


Ruined

by xenascully



Category: NCIS
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-04
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:42:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 37
Words: 51,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1411981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenascully/pseuds/xenascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When something devastating happens to one of the team, justice may not be enough to keep the them together...  No pairings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS. I don't own the characters. And since I get to borrow theirs, they can take any originals I throw in here, and I won't complain...

Gibbs swept sawdust and wood chips from the basement's concrete floor, into a dustpan, as he hummed a tune he was only familiar with because his senior agent had been singing it at the crime scene the previous week. He wasn't even sure what the song was, except that it was something older; something Dean Martin or Frank Sinatra...something like that. All he knew, was that he hadn't been able to get it out of his head in five days.

Tony had taken mandatory vacation time, ordered by Director Vance. Contrary to how he'd usually have argued, Tony had accepted it with excitement. He knew exactly what he was going to do. In fact, he'd told Gibbs all about it as they rode down in the elevator to the parking garage that night after work.

"I've had this account set up for a while, Boss," he'd told him. "There's this beautiful hotel in Vegas. I know that sounds like something my father would do, but I'm not going there to gamble," he defended. "It's just this great place... Beautiful women, great service, and a few old frat buddies are gonna meet me there, that I haven't seen in years! Or well...that's the plan, anyway. I've been saving up for a while now. My friends don't live too far away, and they love Vegas..."

He'd rambled on and on; most, Gibbs had tuned out for.

That was Friday. The stupid song popped into his head on Saturday morning at about 3a.m, out of no where, as Gibbs was carving out of a block of wood on the workbench. It hadn't left, since.

Tony was due to fly back in to D.C tonight. McGee had agreed, before they'd parted ways in the garage that Friday, to pick him up at the airport. In fact, he'd been due to arrive back in about an hour ago, Gibbs realized as he glanced at his watch. Coincidentally, his cell decided to ring, right in that moment.

"Yeah. Gibbs," he answered.

"Boss, it's McGee," the voice sounded on the other line. "Tony's flight was 702, right? In directly from Las Vegas?"

"That's what I remember."

"I've been here a while. Thought maybe there was a delay, but I checked with the front desk, and the flight was on time; landed an hour ago. You haven't heard from him, have you?"

"Not since Friday," his gut began to churn.

"I'm having his name looked up in the check-in...uh, hang on, Boss..." his voice faded a bit, and Gibbs could hear a woman's voice speaking to him, but not clear enough to know what she was saying. "Could he have missed it? Is there any other flights coming out of there?" Gibbs listened, intently, to McGee's questions to the woman. His eyes drifted toward the small window, high up on the wall, as light played through it, indicating possible headlights coming up the street. "He hasn't transferred the ticket?...Well, can you at least confirm that he flew out of here Friday evening?" Gibbs heard the vehicle's brakes squeak to a halt in front of his house. Maybe it was Tony... "Uh Boss?"

"Anything, McGee?"

"Tony never used his ticket..."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"Tony never flew to Vegas, Boss. He never rescheduled. As far as they can tell, he never left D.C."

Gibbs heard two doors slam, and the vehicle outside was suddenly screeching away, making a U-turn, and speeding off. Gibbs' heart sped up with sudden adrenaline, and he took off up the stairs; the phone still clutched in his hand, but not at his ear, as he maneuvered his way out the front door.

When his eyes met the front lawn, the vehicle was long gone. What it had left behind, however, was a body... The only identifiable marking, was the clothing. He was wearing the same clothes Gibbs had seen him in on Friday...


	2. Chapter 2

Gibbs sprinted into action, pulling the phone back to his ear, "McGee! Call an ambulance to get to my house, now!"

"Boss?"

"Do it!" he yelled, letting his phone fall to the ground as he hurriedly dropped to his knees before the broken man that had been tossed onto his lawn. "Tony?" he was unsure of where to place his hands. Tony was laying on his stomach; his face turned toward the street. All he could tell, in this dark of night, was that his clothes were damp with something; maybe blood. And his hands...seemed mangled and bloody. He was unmoving.

But he needed to check to see if he was even still alive...

Gibbs shakily brought his hand to Tony's neck, seeking out the artery that would give him his answer. But before he could feel it, Tony's body jerked, hard, and he let out a pained moan, that perhaps if he'd been more conscious, would have been a scream.

"DiNozzo! Tony, it's gonna be okay," Gibbs said, relieved that his agent was still alive, yet horrified at the mystery of what might have been done to him. He busied himself, checking for open wounds that might still be bleeding. Tony must have felt him pull up his shirt, because suddenly he was squirming.

"N-no! No, don't..."

"Tony, it's me," Gibbs cautiously laid a hand on Tony's shoulder, noting the flinch. "Not gonna hurt you. Just wanna make sure you're not bleedin' still."

"G- Gi'z...Gi'z, that you?"

Gibbs narrowed his eyes at the sluggish slurring. "Yeah, Tony, it's me," he told him as he stood and made his way around Tony's body so that he could meet his eyes. But as he stooped down, his heart constricted in his chest. He couldn't help the breath caught in his throat and the anger that had instantly boiled in his blood, at was he now saw...

Tony's face had been sliced, repeatedly. No wonder he'd been slurring. One of the slices ran diagonally across from his left cheek, down across his top and bottom lip, and ended just to the right of his chin. None of them seemed life-threateningly deep. But the sight was horrific...

Tony's eyes opened and saw how Gibbs was looking at him. "No..." tears sprung to his eyes. "Don' look, 'oss...Gi'z...don' look at...m...ee," he cringed; having allowed himself to let his lips meet to form the word, was painful.

"God, Tony, what'd they do to you...?" he reached out to lay a gentle hand on the younger man's head, and felt him flinch again. But now he realized why. There were, what felt like, welts on his scalp...and spots of missing hair... The anger boiled again. "Who did this?"

"Mmm..." Tony squeezed his eyes shut, and moisture leaked from the corners.

"Tony, do you know who did this?" he asked, more gently, moving so that he could attempt to gently turn the agent over.

"M...monster..." he replied, allowing Gibbs to turn him onto his side. "Agh!" he gasped and pulled his arms into his chest.

Tony's hands looked worse now, in the streetlight above them. They were likely both broken. Gibbs swallowed down the bile. "Tony, who? Who's the monster?"

"Monster...I...I'm...a monster, Gi'z...I..m monster..." he let out a sob, and Gibbs was at a loss for words. All he could do was let the words sink in, as he kept a comforting hand on Tony's arm.

As he heard the siren in the distance, he felt the words come back to him. He leaned closer to Tony. "You're okay, now, Tony. Whatever happened to you, I'm gonna help you get through this. You hear me?"

"N...n..." Tony shook his head, not opening his eyes.

"You hear me, DiNozzo? You're safe now... I won't let anything happen to you. You hear?"

Tony made a choking sound before letting out a shuddering breath. But he nodded.

"Good..." he lightly squeezed his shoulder. "Help is almost here. I'll be with you." He didn't ask if he wanted it. It was not up for debate.

As the lights shone in the distance, reaching the corner of Gibbs' eye, he stood, retrieved his phone, and made his way back to Tony. He saw that the call was still in session, and put it to his ear as he crouched down. "McGee?"

"Boss, what happened? What's going on?" the younger agent's voice sounded panicked on the other line.

"Need you to call Ziva. Both of you need to get to my place. A car dumped Tony here and sped off. I want you to find everything you can."

"Dumped? Is he...God, Boss, is he..."

"He's alive, McGee," he reassured him. "But he's in bad shape. Need to go with him. So I need you both here taking care of this. Might as well call Abs and tell her to get into the office, asap." McGee was silent on the other line for a moment. "McGee, you with me?"

"Yeah...Yes, Boss. I'll...I'll call them. Boss? How...what happened to him? How bad is it?"

"I'll fill you in when I know more," he ended the call as the ambulance stopped beside them.

The EMT exiting the passenger door got to him, first. "Sir, are you Agent Gibbs?" Gibbs nodded. "Got the call telling us you needed someone here, but no details. What happened to him?" he asked as he crouched down beside Tony.

"Was dumped here," Gibbs replied. "Not sure what they did, or how long they had him."

"Sir?" the EMT looked at Tony. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Yes..." Tony replied. They waited.

"Sir, tell me your name, please."

"DiNozzo..."

"Agent DiNozzo," Gibbs clarified to the medic.

"Agent DiNozzo, can you tell me, other than your hands, do you know if anything is broken?" he asked. Gibbs watched the other medic come around with a stretcher.

"N...not sure... Can't...m...memmer..."

"Can't remember," Gibbs clarified, so Tony didn't have to try and say that again.

"Can you tell me what hurts?" the medic asked, as the other started taking his vitals.

Tony curled into himself as they touched him. His eyes squeezed shut and he let out a sob. Gibbs was immediately back beside him. "Tony, no one's gonna hurt you, here. I promised you that, didn't I?" After a moment, Tony almost imperceptibly nodded. "They need to know where you're hurting. They wanna help you, and in order to do that, you've gotta tell them... Where are you hurting, DiNozzo?"

Tony breathed panicky breaths for a few moments before replying, "E'rywhere...e'rywhere hurts..."

11 00 11 00 11

The ride to the hospital revealed several things. One of them being that Tony needed something to calm him down, which they gladly gave him. It allowed them to examine him a bit more closely.

Gibbs sat a bit away from the medic, just looking at Tony's face, now lit up in the bus. Who would do such a thing to him? Whoever had done it, intended to disfigure him; scar him for life...


	3. Chapter 3

"Abby, right now I need you to focus!" Gibbs shouted into the phone, as he paced outside in front of the hospital. They'd taken Tony back over an ago. Ducky was back there with the doctors, and Gibbs was trying to get some answers. "I don't know anything, as far as what's happened to Tony," he told her, though he knew some of his injuries. He would spare her that much, for the time being. "But I know he's stable. So, right now, I need you to focus and find me the bastard that did this to him."

"I'm...trying to do that, Gibbs," Abby tried to compose herself on the other line. "But I've got next to nothing to work with, here."

"Next to nothing is still something, Abs."

"I've got half a foot of tire track!" she retorted, sharply. "It shows me nothing, except that the vehicle was likely a standard SUV using standard SUV tires...which narrows nothing down."

"Narrows it down some, at least."

"Not enough! I've got major mass spec running...Maybe that will help. But the only other thing I've got is blood, Gibbs. Tony's blood! What's going on? What happened to him?"

"That's what I'm tryin' to figure out!" Gibbs snapped back. "But I can't do that unless you help me, Abs. I need you on this...I need you to do as much as you possibly can with what little you have. Can you do that for me?"

There was near silence on the other line, aside from the calming breaths he heard her attempting take. But then she replied, "I can...I will, Gibbs."

"That's my girl."

"You'll tell me...you'll call when you know something?"

"I'll call, Abs," he told her, then ended the call. He tucked his phone in his pocket and ran a weary hand down his face. No one was really sure, at this point, what Tony's mental state was. Or if he'd be able to identify his attacker. When had things gone so horribly wrong?

He heard the doors swish open behind him, and he turned to see Ducky making his way toward him. "Jethro," he approached. "Have they discovered anything?"

"Not yet, Duck," he shook his head. "Any news on Tony?"

"Yes. Let's sit, shall we?" he motioned to the knee-height stone hedge that ran perpendicular to the outer wall of the hospital wing. Not wanting to waste time arguing, Gibbs simply followed him. "As the doctor told you earlier, Anthony is stable. However," Ducky took a breath and let it out a bit slowly, "My concern lies with his mental state."

"Did he talk?"

"He's been sedated," the M.E told him. "But his injuries speak volumes."

"What'd they find?" Gibbs searched the older man's eyes.

"His hands...both of them were broken over the course of several days. Some of the breaks are more recent than others. Whoever did this, intended on making it so that he wouldn't have use of them again..."

"Did they succeed?" Gibbs asked, angrily.

"Only time will tell. Though the surgeons are in the process of scheduling him in. There are...at least a dozen breaks in each hand," he told him, grimly. "Sadly, this is only the beginning of a long list..."

"What else?"

"The lacerations on his face..."

"This was personal, wasn't it, Duck?" Gibbs had surmised as much, on the ride over.

"It would seem so. They did everything with a precision that leads me to believe they had some medical background. It would be difficult to repair the damage without leaving scarring. The way they intentionally cared for the wounds, but left them open..." Ducky let out a breath and shook his head. "There are...gouges down his back, caused by an object not made for cutting. My guess would be a hand rake. The wounds are a couple of days old, at least. But they were still bleeding a bit."

"I felt something...on his head..."

"Yes... It appears his hair had been pulled out by hand. Whether it was his own, I can't be sure at this point. But given the other injuries..."

"Yeah..."

"Another reason I have to believe this person had medical background; they'd been keeping him alive through intravenous fluids," he told him.

"Keeping him alive, so they could torture him..."

"Yes. Also, drugging him," he met his eyes again. "No doubt, to keep him from being able to fight back. They found haloperidol in his blood. It would've kept him just uncoordinated enough to not be able to defend himself, yet still experience all the pain. And yet, they also felt the need to hobble him..."

"What?" his eyes widened.

"My guess is that whomever held him captive, also knew of his love for movies. The device they used to restrain him, was likely very much like the one Kathy Bates' character, from Misery, used on Caan's character; the cuffs and the wooden board-"

Ducky was suddenly cut off as Gibbs angrily stood, "They crushed his ankles?"

"Jethro, calm yourself..." Ducky said, gently, putting a hand on Gibbs' arm. "I believe it was more a threat, than anything. His ankles have not been crushed, thank God." Gibbs let out a relieved sigh and sank back down on the hedge, running a shaky hand through his hair. "But there are some fractures along his right tibia, and swelling as well as abrasions on each leg, due to being restrained in that fashion. One other thing they've found, at this point... Burns, high up on each inner thigh; likely done with heated metal, from the looks of it."

This information disturbed the senior agent. Mostly because of the possible implications behind it. "Was he...Did they..."

"The doctors did a full examination," Ducky supplied. "There were no clear signs of any sexual assault. But that doesn't necessarily mean something of that nature didn't happen."

"What do you mean?"

"The placement of the burns leads me to believe that he was, at least, threatened with it. There was a method to the madness, in all of this. Their intentions were clear, Jethro. They wanted to take away everything that made Anthony what he is. They took away his good looks, and quite possibly his ability to have a relationship, right along with it. And his ability to perform his job as an agent has been gravely threatened. Even should he ever recover physically, the psychological ramifications could be crippling. It is, literally, dependent on Anthony's response to all of this..."

Ducky paused in his speech, examining his friend's, physically visible, emotional response to this bombardment of horrifying information. Gibbs' face was a bit paled; dismayed and afraid...saddened by the news about his senior field agent; his friend. "What are his chances-" he paused in his question, and decidedly rephrased, "What's the likelihood, if I tried to help him, of him recovering from all of this, Ducky?"

"I'd considered this," he replied. "And I know that you, and the rest of his team for that matter, will be more than willing to try and help him. But it all boils down to one thing," he met Gibbs' eyes and dipped his chin a bit, "Tony must be willing to accept that help..."


	4. Chapter 4

"We were able to set the tibia bone without need for surgery," the doctor explained to Gibbs and Ducky. "But his hands are a different story. We've got him scheduled in the morning. With the extent of damage, we'll need to use pins, at least, to secure them correctly in order to heal. As far as nerve damage, we won't know the extent of it for a while. There will definitely be need for physical therapy, all around.

"As far as the lacerations on his back, we were able to clean and stitch them. There's no sign of infection, but we're giving him a course of antibiotics as a precaution. The burns on his legs, and the lacerations to his face, have been cleaned and bandaged. They're more superficial than the rest of his injuries, so they're taking a back seat for the time being. But we'll have more staff available by the time he's out of surgery tomorrow, to consult with about how we'd like to proceed.

"We've also notified the hospital's top psychologist, who should be by tomorrow evening, to consult with Agent DiNozzo. Unless there's someone from your agency that you'd prefer?"

"Let's see how Anthony feels about that, shall we?" Ducky glanced to Gibbs.

"Can we see him?" Gibbs asked the doctor. "Is he still sedated?"

"You can see him," the doctor assured him. "He's not been given any more sedatives since we've finished with treatment. There's no guarantee he'll wake before morning, though."

"I'd like to see him," Gibbs told him. "And I'll be staying here with him, tonight."

The doctor eyed him for a moment, glancing between the two men before him. "Of course, Agent Gibbs. That won't be a problem. Right this way," he turned and led them through double doors and down a long hallway. Gibbs and Ducky shared a glance, both surprised and relieved there hadn't been an argument from the doctor.

When they reached his room, the doctor gave them a short nod, grabbing his pager from his waist band, and heading down the hall.

Gibbs entered the room first. Ducky allowed him a moment; lingering in the hall for the time being. The senior agent had seen Tony's face and hands before they'd been treated. But at the time, he hadn't known the extent of what'd happened to him. Seeing him, motionless in the hospital bed, his foot garnishing a cast that went well up his calf, raised in a sling; his hands wrapped, delicately, and off to his sides; his face littered with butterfly sutures and medical tape; the dark, haunting circles around his eyes...Gibbs felt his heart clench with a mixture of sorrow and rage.

He approached the side of the bed, wishing that he could take the younger man's hand to offer some kind of comfort. He opted, instead, for laying a gentle hand on his unscathed forehead, running a thumb over the corner of his brow.

The soft beeping from the machine beside the bed, drew his attention to the IV pole and bags hanging just beside where he stood. The tubing ran down to the crook of Tony's elbow, where it plugged into a port that'd been taped to his skin.

A sudden quickening of the beeping from the machine beside him, pulled his attention for a moment to check it. Tony's heart rate had sped up, maybe a fraction. His eyes shot back to Tony's face as he felt his head shift slightly beneath his hand. Tony's eyes were open. A struggled sound escaped his lips.

Gibbs leaned over a bit. "Tony?" he didn't move his hand, nor stop the movement of his thumb.

"No...please, no more..."

"Tony, it's me. It's okay," he soothed, trying to shift so that he'd be in the younger man's line of vision. "You're safe, now. Look at me, DiNozzo."

Tony's eyes darted around for a moment, before settling on his. "Boss?" his voice cracked.

Gibbs was relieved, and noted that the pain killers must be working, since he wasn't wincing as he talked, anymore. "Yeah, Tony, it's me. Good to have you back with us," he gave him a sad smile.

Tony's eyes left his for a moment, glancing around the room. "Hospital," he said, then met Gibbs' eyes again.

"Yeah, you're at Bethesda," he clarified. "You remember what happened?" he asked, laying his other hand on Tony's bicep.

Tony swallowed, not looking away from Gibbs. But the flickering in his eyes told the story of a man revisiting a horror. Tony nodded; his eyes reddening.

"Do you know who did this to you; who took you?"

The monitor beside the bed picked up, along with Tony's breathing. "I'm...I des-deserved it," he told him, his voice cracking. "I deserved it, B-oss...I'm a m-monster...I'm a monster..." tears spilled from his lower lids, breaking Gibbs' heart as he stood there, helpless to understand.

"You didn't deserve this, Tony," he told him. "No one deserves this. I need you to tell me... Tell me who did this to you."

Tony seemed conflicted. His eyes dropped from Gibbs', and looked down in front of him. He saw his leg up in the sling, in a cast; saw his hands wrapped. He knew this wasn't a dream; knew he wasn't just being tested again...only because there was very little pain, now. He felt the familiar buzz of pain killers in his system. And it all came rushing back at him; the things that had been done to him; what he'd never be able to do again...

He met his boss's eyes again, blinking back anymore tears that threatened to fall. "Jeanne..." he told him. "Jeanne did this..."

Friday...

Tony descended the stairs out of his apartment building, suitcase in hand. He'd seen the cab that he'd called for to take him to the airport, pull up outside, from his window. But now that he was out in the parking lot, the cab was gone.

"I sent him off," a familiar voice sounded beside him.

He turned and saw her standing there, leaning back against her car. "Jeanne?" the shock wasn't nearly as hidden as he'd wanted it to be.

"Hey, Tony," she smiled.

"What are you doing here?"

"You're not the least bit happy to see me?" she raised her brows.

"I'm just...surprised, is all. We didn't exactly part ways on the best of terms..."

"No...we didn't," she nodded, looking down at the asphalt for a moment.

"So, what are you doing here?" he repeated. "And why did you send my cab away? I've got a flight to catch."

"I'll give you a lift," she replied, meeting his eyes again.

"I don't think that's a very good idea," he said, wearily.

"I came to town to talk to you, Tony," the smile slipped from her face. "I think you owe it to me to give me at least the ten minutes it'll take to get to the airport."

His features relaxed, minutely. "Not sure what there is to talk about," he told her, "But you're right; I do owe you that much."

The corners of her mouth turned up...


	5. Chapter 5

Now...

Gibbs felt the adrenaline release from anger, within himself. The name had been sitting on a back shelf somewhere in his mind, since Ducky had mentioned the medical background. But he'd underestimated the possibility of her actually being this psychotic.

Tony had fallen quickly back into unconsciousness, before Gibbs could question him further. Ducky had managed to slip into the room right as Tony had told him who had been the cause of his disfigurement.

Ducky approached his friend as he straightened, removing his hands from where they'd been placed on the younger agent in support, previously. He knew what the senior agent wanted to do.

Ducky placed a hand on his arm, "Go, Jethro. I'll stay with him until you return..."

11 00 11 00 11

"I know it's late, ma'am," McGee told the older woman who lived two doors down from Tony's apartment. "But it's important. It's about your neighbor-"

"Anthony? The police officer?"

"NCIS agent, ma'am, yes," he corrected.

"Oh dear... Has something happened?" Her small, nightgown-clad form slipped out a bit more from the doorway.

"I'm afraid so," he told her. "He's been hurt, and we're trying to find out what happened. No one's seen him since Friday. Did you notice anything? Did you see him leave his apartment?" This was the eighth person he'd talked to in the complex. All of them knew Tony, but none of them had seen anything.

"I saw his cab pull up to take him to the airport," she told him. McGee perked up. "I was watching out the window. Whenever Anthony leaves on a long trip, he lets me know he'll be away. That way I can keep an eye on his apartment. I keep a good eye on things, around here, after all."

"Is that so?"

"And he waves to me from the street. Always does," she told him. "Such a nice young man. He helps me with bringing in the groceries."

"Did he get in the cab?" he tried to bring her back on subject.

"Oh no. No he didn't. There was a young lady outside who sent it away."

"What did this lady look like?" he asked, scribbling the information onto a small notepad.

"She wasn't much more than thirty-five, I don't think. If even that. She was very pretty. Long brown hair...maybe more blonde than brown. But you know young ladies these days, always dyeing their hair. Who knows if it was natural or not..."

"Anything else you can remember about her? What kind of car she was driving?"

"It was one of those bigger cars. Not a truck, but you know those...cars that seat more people? And it was black. Looked to be brand new."

"Was there an argument between them?"

"No. I don't think so. He didn't seem very happy to see her, now that I think about it. But he got into the car with her, and they left, heading toward the airport."

McGee's cell rang in his pocket. "Thank you, ma'am. I appreciate your help. Someone may be back to speak with you..."

"That's quite alright, dear. Anything for dear Anthony. Do let me know how he's doing?"

"I'll try. Thank you," he started walking away as he pulled out his phone. "This is McGee," he answered.

"Jeanne Benoit," Gibbs' voice sounded on the other end.

"Boss?"

"She's the one who did this to Tony. I wanna know when she got into town, what she's driving, where she's been and for how long, and I wanna know yesterday."

"I'll head back to the office, now, Boss. Ziva and I were questioning Tony's neighbors. One of them saw him get into a vehicle with a woman in her thirties, who was likely Benoit. The neighbor said he got into the car willingly, from what she could tell."

"Security footage at the apartment complex?"

"Ziva's trying to get in contact with the Super. So far, she hasn't had any luck."

"Both of you, get back to the office and track down Benoit. She likely rented a car, so check on that."

"On it, Boss..."

11 00 11 00 11

Friday...

"So, what is it you wanted to talk about?" Tony asked as they headed in the direction of the airport.

"Guess I just wanted to clear up a few things. Get some closure," she replied, coolly.

"And here I thought we got that a while ago..."

"I feel like we didn't, really. I feel like maybe you did. But I walked away...unsatisfied."

Tony sighed, "I don't know what you want me to say. I've told you everything I can tell you."

"Well, it's not enough," she met his eyes, then turned back to the road. She released a breath, in the silence. "I'm getting a headache. Can you reach into my glove box and grab me the Aspirin? It's under the manual..."

Tony took a breath and loosened the top of his belt a bit, then leaned forward, opening the compartment. Jeanne slipped a hand into her pocket, pulling out a syringe...

"I don't see it," he told her, rooting around in all the junk.

"It's there. You just have to look harder," she told him. Then she slammed on the breaks, causing him to hit his head.

He was a bit dazed, grabbing the sore spot and grunting. Then he felt a pinch in the side of his neck. "Ow...what the..." he straightened, then fell back in the seat, turning his head to look to Jeanne. He saw the now empty syringe in her hand, and the grin on her face. "What'd you jus'..." the world started to get fuzzy.

"Yeah, about that... I'm gonna need a little longer than ten minutes..."


	6. Chapter 6

Tony groggily began to drift back into awareness. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out for, nor did he recall exactly when he'd gone to sleep. But the sudden returning ache in his forehead, quickly reminded him.

He groaned, reaching to rub the sore spot as he attempted to pry open his eyes.

Jeanne.

He remembered something about Jeanne.

"Tony?"

He heard her voice somewhere beside him, and turned his head toward the sound. "Jeanne?"

"How are you feeling?" she asked, sweetly, coming to sit down beside him on the bed. "You've been out for a few hours. I was starting to get worried," she told him as she brushed the hair from his forehead.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice hoarse, as he moved to sit up. But the movement caused the room to spin, and he had no choice but to allow himself to fall, gracelessly, back down. "I remember we were in the car..."

"We were in a little accident," she lied. "You hit your head and lost consciousness. So I brought you here to take care of you. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

He groaned again, "Where are we?" Then it dawned on him, "Oh god...my flight!"

"Don't worry about that right now, Tony," she told him. "I've taken care of everything. You just need to rest, okay?" She shifted on the bed and Tony opened his eyes again to see her adjusting something...

That's when he realized he was hooked up to an IV. "Are we in a hospital?"

"Of sorts," she told him.

Tony grew suspicious. "Jeanne, where are we?" he asked again, once more trying to sit up, and failing.

"We're someplace we can talk," she said, then met his eyes. "There's a lot to talk about, you know."

"I wanna leave," he protested.

"Well, you can't," she snapped, all kindness leaving her voice. "I went through a lot of trouble to get you here. So you're gonna sit tight and talk. Or at least listen."

Tony began to squirm, trying to get his legs to work so that he could get out of there. But that's when he came to the realization that he was somehow bound. He looked down at his feet.

"You like it, Tony?" she smiled. "Just like in Misery. I found that, special, just for you."

"This isn't funny, Jeanne," he said through his teeth. "Get that off of me, right now, and let me the hell out of here."

"Oh I don't think you understand," she shook her head. "You don't have a choice. You're staying here, whether you like it or not."

Tony pressed his head back into the mattress and looked, tight-lipped, up at the ceiling. He hated how groggy he felt. And he knew it had nothing to do with a concussion. "What did you give me?"

"Something to keep you put," she replied. Then she shifted, moving up onto the bed and half laying beside him. "Why don't we have some fun, Tony. You know, like the old days? It's just you and me, here. And we've got plenty of time," she ran a hand down his chest, seductively.

"This is not the way to get a guy in bed, Jeanne. Hate to break it to you," he told her, not looking away from the ceiling.

"I dunno. I guess it's just as acceptable as, say, getting a girl in bed by lying to her...just so that he'd have an in with her father."

"Jeanne-"

"Don't start, Tony," she interjected. "What you did was wrong; job or not. You broke my heart. You more than broke my heart. Don't tell me that what I'm doing is any worse."

"Fine," he sighed. "You win. You're right, okay? Happy?"

She smiled, "I'd be happier if we could have some fun."

"Not exactly in the mood, honeybuns," he replied, sarcastically.

"I can help you with that," she grinned, snaking her hand into the front of Tony's pants.

"Jeanne, no..." he squirmed, grabbing her wrist, weakly.

"Am I gonna have to restrain your hands, too?" she asked. "Hmm...well, I suppose that'd be kinky." She scooted off of the bed and pulled Tony's arm, easily, placing it higher up on the bed where there were leather straps connected to the bar.

Tony tried to fight her, but cursed at the weakness that seemed to be flowing through his entire body. There was no way out of this. Not alone.

Once she secured both of Tony's wrists to the bed, she climbed back into the same spot beside Tony. "Now, where were we?"

"Please don't do this, Jeanne," he begged, pathetically, as her hand snaked back into his pants.

"Oh come on, Tony. This'll be fun. You don't have to do anything but lay there-"

"I don't want this!"

"I didn't want to be lied to. Or discarded like an old case file," she spat. Then she forced the anger off of her face and moved to her knees, opening Tony's pants and pulling them, roughly, down to his knees. "Now...let me have fun, Tony. I know what I'm doing, remember?" she smiled. "I'm pretty good at it."

Tony knew there was no way he would talk her out of whatever she had planned. So he closed his eyes, tightly, willing this to be over quickly. Maybe...maybe then, she'd let him leave. Maybe after she had her fun, this could be over...and he'd never have to talk about this ever...

He cursed his traitorous man-parts for responding to Jeanne's touch. But part of him didn't even care; he just wanted it to be over with. And if this is what needed to happen for that, then he'd go with it. He tried to help himself by thinking of something else...someone else. Anyone, really. The hot blonde at the bar last Saturday night. Yeah, he'd pretend it was her, expertly fondling him, just the way he liked it...

Jeanne could tell, from her previous experiences with Tony, that he was getting close. Without bringing too much attention to the man before her, she reached beside the bed, to the curling-iron she'd had set on the highest setting for over an hour, now.

"Every time you think about getting-off," she whispered, "I want you to remember this..." She released her hold on him and pressed the dangerously hot metal of the iron to the soft, sensitive skin of his inner thigh...

Now...

Gibbs angrily paced Tony's room, impatiently awaiting some news on the whereabouts of Jeanne Benoit. Ducky had left to the cafeteria to get him some coffee, and himself some tea. Once Gibbs received news, there was no doubt he'd be rushing out to get his hands around her wicked throat.

He knew that pacing wasn't going to solve anything. But with all the anger that was rushing through his veins, it was this, or break everything in sight...with a baseball bat. So he'd opted for the pacing. But amidst all the furious shouting in his head, he failed to realize that Tony had begun to restlessly stir in the bed. It wasn't until the younger agent became vocal, that Gibbs froze and looked over at him.

"No! No, sss-stopit, please! Nnnngh!" Tony thrashed about the bed in the throes of his nightmare.

Gibbs rushed to his side, ignoring the monitor's alarm that indicated an accelerated heart rate. "DiNozzo! Tony, wake up!" Worried that his agent might injure himself further, Gibbs grabbed Tony's forearms and held them down as he tried to talk him out of the worrisome state.

Tony's eyes shot open and wandered aimlessly around the room. It took several long moments for him to realize where he was. Or, more importantly, where he wasn't.

"Tony?" Gibbs loosened his grip on the younger man's arms and waited for him to meet his eyes. When he did, Gibbs saw the fear in them; the pain. "Breathe, Tony," he told him.

It was then that Tony realized he'd been holding his breath since he'd opened his eyes. He released the breath, not daring to tear his eyes away from those of his boss...in case it wasn't real... He wanted nothing more than to reach out and grab hold of his arm, just to verify it. But that wasn't possible.

He watched as Gibbs brought a hand to the side of his face, avoiding the bandages. He was grateful that the older man didn't pull away when he involuntarily flinched at he touch. Then he felt Gibbs' other hand on the front of his shoulder.

"You're okay," Gibbs told him. "You're safe, Tony. Everything's gonna be okay. Just gotta calm yourself down."

Tony realized that he was near hyperventilating. There were other people in the room, he could tell from the corners of his eyes; probably nurses. Gibbs was trying to calm him, so that they didn't need to medicate him.

He tried.

Tony tried to calm himself down; tried to control his breathing. But soon, his vision began to swim, and the face he'd been so desperate not to look away from, was fading...


	7. Chapter 7

McGee tore up the hallway of the ICU wing, after flashing his badge and being pointed in the direction of Tony's room. He'd been trying to reach Gibbs, but his phone wasn't picking up, apparently, in that particular ward. They'd found a possible hit on Benoit's location. Ziva had gone ahead, to survey the area before they got there.

He rounded into the right room, by chance, having seen Ducky and Gibbs sitting in chairs, through the doorway. "Boss..." he entered, as quietly as he could, freezing as he caught a glimpse of his partner in the bed. Tim's breath caught in his throat, and seemed to grow stuck there. The sight of Tony's pale, unconscious figure, even bandaged up as he was, was overwhelming. He'd clearly been purposefully tortured and disfigured.

McGee hadn't even been aware of the two older men getting up from their chairs to go to his side. He'd been blinded from anything else, in that moment. The level of anger that bubbled inside of him, wasn't something that Tim was used to. It wasn't until his vision began to blur, that he realized his eyes had begun to sting with impending tears.

"Tim," Gibbs' hand went to the younger agent's shoulder.

McGee shook himself, blinking rapidly to stop whatever moisture that had gathered in his eyes, to dissipate. He met his boss's eyes, "We might've gotten a hit on Jeanne. Ziva went straight out. I couldn't get you on your phone, and I figured I'd need to come and get you, anyway..." his eyes drifted back over to his injured partner.

Gibbs squeezed his shoulder, "C'mon, McGee. I'll fill you in, in the car." He turned, briefly, to the M.E, "You'll stay?"

"Of course, Jethro..."

Saturday...

Tony shook, as he lay in the bed. Jeanne had brutally repeated the process she'd done the previous evening, three more times. He now garnished four burns on his thighs, which she was careful to treat, afterward. It didn't treat his psyche, though.

He wasn't sure what time it was; no windows to even give him an indication. But since he'd woken up, this time, he hadn't seen Jeanne at all. That, perhaps, scared him even more. He was tied to a bed, unable to move, and alone. Was she leaving him like this?

All too soon, she reappeared. And before she even opened her mouth, he was instantly regretting his wish to no longer be alone.

"Good morning, Tony," she said. So...it's morning, then. "I've got a to-do list, today. Figured I'd get your stuff outta the way, first."

"Please stop this, Jeanne," he begged. "I think you got your point across. You're angry, and I hurt you. I get it; I do... Please..."

"You think I really got my whole point across, Tony? You think this was just about sex?"

"Jeanne..."

"You...your job, everything about you, Tony...I hate it. What you did? To me? That makes you a monster," she told him, bringing her face closer to him. "You're a monster, Tony. And if you don't already know that, you will..."

"I didn't wanna hurt you-"

"I didn't wanna have to hurt you, either," she told him as she straightened. "But I can't let you hurt anyone else, the way you hurt me."

"Please, Jeanne..."

"You deserve this," she told him. "Maybe it'd be a bit easier if you could admit that to yourself and take what I give you."

Tony squeezed his eyes closed, preparing for what he thought she'd do next. He heard movement; heard her pressing one of the buttons on the IV machine she'd hooked him to the previous night. And then nothing...

When he thought maybe she'd left, he let out a breath. But then...then came the excruciating pain...

"Agghhhh!" he screamed as he felt the bones in his hand crack. "S-stop! Stop! PleaseJeannestopstop!" he cried. But she didn't stop. She didn't even flinch. So he screamed through clenched teeth as she relentlessly continued...whatever the hell she was doing to break his hands. He couldn't see; he didn't want to.

When it was over, he was shaking violently, sweating, and trying, madly, to breathe. "Why?" his voice cracked. "Why..."

Her voice came in a whisper; so close, he could feel her breath on his ear, and it made a shiver of disgust run through his entire body. "Because you deserve it. And this way, you can't hold a gun, Tony. You can't be an agent if you can't carry a gun, can you? You'll be worthless. You can't hurt anyone, like you hurt me. Not anymore."

If his eyes had been open, he would've seen the world fade to black...


	8. Chapter 8

Sunday...

"Please, Jeanne... I didn't wan'...hurt y-you," Tony's body was weak; shaking from exertion and pain. "I...wouldn've...done that... Wasn' my...c-call. W-was f-following...orders, J-Jeanne..."

"You think you're excused from what you did, just because it was under some stupid order?" she asked, as she secured his torso with duct tape, to keep him upright in the chair she'd placed him in. In front of him was an old sheet that'd been thrown over something fairly large and flat, against the wall. "You think just anyone could do what you did? Play the role that would hurt someone until the end of their life?" Once he was secure, she crouched down in front of him, looking him in the eyes. "You really don't think you did anything wrong..."

"I know I hurt you," he told her. "But if it'd...b-been a dif- a different...life, Jeanne...I wouldn've let th-that happen. I w-wouldn've ever d-done s-somethin' like th-that..."

"It's not about what you would've done under different circumstances," she told him. "The fact that you not only accepted such a job; but you knew what it entailed. And you saw how it progressed, and allowed me to believe that it was real..." her eyes shone with tears she refused to let fall. "You let it happen, Tony. You didn't stop it before it got too far. You let it keep rolling, like it didn't matter; like I wasn't a human being with a heart," her voice cracked. "You didn't just break my heart, Tony. You broke me, as a person. As someone with the ability to ever trust anyone again. You ruined me... Face facts, Tony; you're a monster."

It was in that moment, that Tony actually began to believe her...

She began to stand, "Monsters hurt people..."

"You're hurting me," he pointed out.

"Yeah...well, guess you turned me into one, too, then," she reached for something on a tray beside the chair. "So, this is just a kindness," she told him, appearing in front of him again with a syringe. "The point of this next exercise isn't physical pain. That'd be distracting from its goal."

Tony flinched, just once, as she carefully injected small amounts of whatever was in the syringe, in various places over his face. He was too focused on the throbbing in his hands, and the burning on his back, from where she'd scraped him with something...hard. She'd whispered in his ear, then, asking him if he still liked it when she clawed his back, during sex. He was pretty certain, at that point, that she'd literally lost her mind...

"Close your eyes," she told him, and he realized she'd put the syringe down, and picked up something else.

"W-what're you..."

"Close your eyes, Tony. This won't hurt... Not for now." She smirked, "Guess I really am just like you..." Tony stared at her, in fear. He wasn't sure what her intentions were, but he was pretty sure this wasn't going to end well. "Close your eyes!" she snapped, angrily. Tony had no choice but to submit.

He squeezed them closed, realizing that his face was numb, then. Somehow, not knowing what she was going to do, was all the more terrifying...

"Ya know," she spoke as she worked, "I keep thinking about that day at your office, when you walked me to the elevator. I looked up at your face; this face that I'd loved...and asked if any of it- anything we'd had together- had been real. I prayed...I prayed the answer would be that it was. Hoped there was some part of you that wasn't a complete monster...But you said 'no'."

"I lied," he told her.

"I know," she replied. Tony's eyes shot open to meet hers, but she had her back turned to him now, putting away whatever she'd been doing. "I know you lied, Tony. And that's what made you even more of a monster. You had the chance to make me feel a little less like a used and thrown away tissue, and you chose to make it easier for yourself, to get rid of me for good, by making me hate you," she turned around, holding gauze in her hands. "I told you to close your eyes."

"I'm sorry..." he told her; his voice cracking. "I'm sorry I hurt you..."

"I heard the apology," she told him. "Close your eyes; I won't tell you again." He complied, shakily. "It's easy to get an apology out of someone, when you're breaking their body."

"That's not-"

"Shut up, Tony," she snapped. "I'm finished with you," she told him, and he heard her shift about. "You can open your eyes now, if you want." But he was afraid to. He heard her move again, in front of him. Heard her pull the sheet off of whatever was against the wall, adjacent to his chair. "I said to open your eyes!" she yanked the back of his hair and snarled in his ear. "I want you to look at yourself, Tony."

Tony opened his eyes and found the mystery object had been a large mirror. It took him a moment to realize that the face he was looking at, was his...

"Take a good, long look at what a monster you are, inside and out..." she told him. "Keep telling yourself it isn't real..."

She released her hold on him, straightened up, and walked out of the room...

Now...

"Give yourself up, Jeanne," Gibbs told the woman who stood, facing away from them, on the pier. Her long trench coat flapped flowing in the wind, as did her hair.

Ziva had given them the green light, once she'd discovered that it was, indeed, Jeanne. But Gibbs had ordered her to keep her distance, out of sight. He wanted this one.

He and McGee stood ready, side by side, guns in hand.

"I was hoping you'd come," Jeanne told him.

"Why did you do it?" McGee couldn't help but ask. "Why would you do something like that to him?"

She grinned, though they could only tell she was when she talked, "I've been waiting...a long time to hear it said that way. Instead of 'why would he do something like that to me?'" she replied. "But I'm not done with him, yet."

"Oh yeah, you are," Gibbs retorted. "You won't get anywhere near him, ever again."

"Don't need to," she replied.

Ziva watched, from the distance, as Jeanne spun around. She caught a glimpse; a flash reflect off the metal of the psychotic woman's gun, right before she brought her arm up. Ziva didn't hesitate. She'd had her gun aimed at Jeanne's head, since she'd been standing there. She fired.

But not before Jeanne got a round off...

Ziva watched McGee's body scoot and fall backward to the ground, hitting it at approximately the same time as Jeanne's. "No!" she yelled, propelling herself forward to get to him...


	9. Chapter 9

Gibbs hadn't expected Jeanne to have a gun. Well, no. That wasn't exactly true. He always expected a weapon. What he hadn't expected, however, was that Jeanne's next move would be to take out members of his team. Jeanne's beef was with Tony.

But it made sense, now that he thought about it.

Now that he watched Jeanne's temple spray a fine mist of blood before she collapsed, dead.

Now that McGee had fallen, beside him.

Now that Ziva screamed, from a distance.

She'd wanted to take something else away from Tony... She might have shot McGee, but she'd been looking straight at him. Her intentions might have been to kill the both of them, if she could. But she'd been aiming for Gibbs. That bullet had been meant for Gibbs...and McGee took it...

Gibbs dropped down beside Tim, noting the pale skin of the younger man's face; the grimace of pain. He searched his torso, with his hands, trying to find where he'd been hit.

"God that... hurt!" McGee grunted, then coughed.

"McGee!" Ziva dropped down at his other side. "Where are you hit?" the worry was clear on her face.

"M'okay," he told them. "Vest..." Gibbs pulled open Tim's jacket, revealing the bullet-proof vest he'd informed them he'd been wearing, and let out a sigh of relief. "Had a...feeling I should wear it," he said.

"Good," Gibbs nodded, still a bit shocked by the past fifteen seconds of his life. "Good boy, McGee."

"She shot you from very close range," Ziva stated. "You should let Ducky look at you; make sure you are alright."

"Duck is with DiNozzo. E.R will have to do," he stood and bent down to assist Tim to his feet. Together, he and Ziva pulled him upright. McGee tried his best to stifle any painful groans as they led him to the car. Gibbs handed Ziva the keys, "Get him there. I'll call Vance. Tell Ducky where to meet me. I'll get Palmer over here with the van. Do not leave DiNozzo by himself," he told her, pointedly. "I'll be back, soon as I can."

Ziva nodded as she slipped into the driver seat and started the car. Gibbs watched her drive away, before turning to the fallen woman on the pier. He made his way to her, crouching down to verify, as if he needed to, that she was actually dead.

Looking at her lifeless, pale eyes staring up into nothing, he noticed how they didn't look too dissimilar from when she was alive. She'd already been dead...inside. Part of Gibbs pitied the woman. There were two ways a person could respond to being mistreated. Jeanne had chosen the path that led her here; the path that allowed it to consume her, make her want revenge, and let it take over everything that she'd once been.

He was angry...at Jenny. She's the one who put Tony into that situation. She'd had a personal vengeance of her own, and she threw two young, innocent people into the battle with her, and cost them both everything. Now Jeanne was dead; perhaps a mercy, more than anything. And Tony...well, his road was going to be a long, hard one. Whether or not he would come out, in the end, like Jeanne, Gibbs couldn't predict. But he'd do everything in his power to help him down the right path.

The other part of him... Well, the other part of him wished that he, instead of Ziva, could've been the one to pull the trigger...

11 00 11 00 11

"She shouldn't have gotten off so easy," Tim muttered in the passenger seat.

Ziva glanced at him, then back to the road. Perhaps he was right. But Ziva didn't know anything, yet. All she'd been told was that Tony had been hurt, and Jeanne was to blame. "What happened, McGee?" she asked, glancing briefly to him again.

Tim looked down at his lap for a moment, trying to swallow down the bile at the memory of Gibbs' explanation. "She tortured him," he told her. "Gibbs didn't go into detail, but he listed his injuries. His hands are both broken to the point he'll need surgery to fix them. He's got a fractured tibia. She burned his legs. His face...she..." he swallowed again.

"What, McGee?" she glanced at him again.

"She messed up his face," he said, turning to look at her. "Cut him up, Ziva..."

She heard the pain behind his words and looked back to the road. After a moment, she responded, "Jeanne's intent was to take away everything Tony considered to make him who he is."

"That's what Gibbs said..."

"And she intended to take away everything he held close to his heart," she added. "She would have taken both of you down with her, if she could. She knew what you both meant to him."

"Easier that strapping a bomb to her chest and hoping to get inside NCIS, I suppose..."

"No," she replied. "She needed to make certain it was the two of you; not everyone. Jeanne was angry. But she was not a killer. This was personal. She wanted the two of you."

"She wanted Gibbs," he retorted. "She was aiming for Gibbs."

"If she'd wanted only to kill Gibbs, she would have done so as she dumped Tony in front of his house," she glanced at him, knowingly, then back to the road when Tim clamped his mouth closed. "Tony cares about you, McGee," she told him. "Whether or not he shows it well, I can see it. I've seen it..."

"Tony cares more about Abby-"

"Abby is...different," she said. "Abby is...easy to love."

"No, she's not," he shook his head. "Not at all."

She let out a small laugh and shook her head, "You know what I mean. Once you are on Abby's good side, it is easier to love her than it would be otherwise."

"Oh god..." Tim wiped a hand down his face. "Abby. She's gonna want to see Tony."

"You do not think she'll be able to handle it?"

"Just wait until you see him," he said in a low voice. "Everything you feel, and don't show...you know Abby's just the opposite. She won't be able to..."

11 00 11 00 11

Ziva entered Tony's hospital room, quietly; Ducky standing to meet her as he saw her in the entryway. She made a glance, a little longer than she'd intended, to the man in the bed, before meeting Ducky's eyes; shoving anything she felt, deep down into the pit where she normally did.

"Gibbs wishes for you to meet him," she told the older man.

"Yes, I received the message from Mr. Palmer," he replied, quietly.

Ziva nodded, distractedly. "I will stay with Tony," she told him, "Until someone gets back. McGee is getting a chest x-ray, and should be here once he is finished."

Ducky put a hand on her arm, sensing Ziva's discomfort. "Tony will be alright, Ziva," he assured her. "Don't ever stop believing that."

"Of course," she gave him a small smile. "He is a DiNozzo," she mimicked her partner. Ducky returned a sad smile, nodded, and made his way out of the room.

Ziva waited until his footsteps faded in the distance, to look over at her partner again. What she saw wasn't the injuries, but an imagined replay of how he received them. It made her stomach ache, and her eyes burn with tears.

She approached the bed and lay a gentle hand on Tony's arm; maybe more a reassurance to herself that he was there, alive, warm. And she allowed herself a few tears, since no one was there to see. No...Abby would not take this very well at all...


	10. Chapter 10

Ziva had quickly buried any further sorrow for her friend. It would do nothing to help Tony, and it wouldn't change anything; wouldn't fuel any part of her that would be necessary at this point. She'd already taken out the person that'd done this to him. But now that she saw the extent of it, she wished she'd not waited for Gibbs and McGee. She wished she'd taken Jeanne, tied her down, and done everything ten-fold, what she had done to Tony. Then, and only then, would she consider the possibility of letting the pathetic woman bleed out and die.

Ziva slipped into the restroom that was directly connected to Tony's hospital room, after a nurse had come in to check his vitals, and promised to stay put until she came back out. But when she was finished, the nurse wasn't the only one in the room with Tony.

Familiar black pigtails where the first and only indication Ziva needed. She nodded to the nurse, to let her leave, before going to Abby's uncharacteristically still form. She was standing beside the bed, and once Ziva was beside her, she realized that her hands weren't as stiff as the rest of her. Joined in front of her, Abby's fingers twisted and untwisted over and over with their counterparts. Her face was an open book, displaying pages of sadness and anger and confusion. But the tears didn't come. The slight twitching made Ziva think that perhaps the dam was weakening, and at any moment, it would break.

She really wished that Gibbs was here. She didn't do very well with this sort of thing; dealing with emotional people. Hell, she could barely help herself through such instances. Not in a healthy way, anyway.

Ziva laid a hand on Abby's arm, and the taller girl turned her head to look at her. Her eyes darted back and forth between Ziva's. "I just wanna hold him," Abby told her, in barely a whisper. "But I don't even know where to touch him...I don't wanna hurt him..."

Before the poor girl could implode, Ziva took the initiative to step forward and pull her into a hug; something the forensic goth had done for her on occasion, whether or not she knew she'd needed it, then... Ziva felt Abby's body shaking with sobs, yet she made no sound of tears.

After a few minutes, she finally spoke, broken as it may be, "How could anyone do this? How could she do this to our Tony?"


	11. Chapter 11

When Gibbs and Ducky entered Tony's room, they found Ziva keeping watch as she stood, leaned back against the wall, and Abby sleeping with her head on McGee's shoulder, where they sat beside the hospital bed; her face stained with dark streams of tear tracks created by her running mascara. Tim looked exhausted and uncomfortable.

"Quite a mess we all are, don't you think?" Ducky whispered, a sad smile on his face, to Gibbs.

"McGee," Gibbs approached the younger agent, "What'd the doc say?"

"Bruised sternum, Boss," he told him, looking up, but not jostling too much, for fear he might wake up Abby. "They gave me some pain killers."

"You should get home, Tim," he told him. "Can't spend the night in that chair. You'll hurt worse tomorrow."

"And you shouldn't be driving with those pain killers in your system," Ducky added. "Therefore, I shall give you a lift to your apartment."

Gibbs turned and approached the former Mossad officer, "Take Abs home? Stay with her tonight?"

Ziva met his eyes, and Gibbs was not fooled by her stoic outward stance; he saw the sadness in them. "Of course, Gibbs," she replied.

Gibbs leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss to her temple; an act normally reserved for the other woman in the room, "Thanks, Ziver."

She nodded, looking down to avoid his eyes as she needed a moment to re-secure her resolve. Ducky had already gently woken Abby and helped her to stand, before also giving Tim the same hand out of his chair.

Abby saw Gibbs, and quickly went to give him a hug. "See you tomorrow, Bossman," she whispered, then took Ziva's proffered arm to be led out of the room. Gibbs was a bit stunned that she hadn't begged to stay. He wasn't sure what to think of that, just yet. So he pushed it aside for the time being, and turned to McGee and Ducky.

"Take care of yourself, McGee," he told the younger man, then looked to Ducky; unspoken request understood by his older friend.

"We all have our charges, tonight, Jethro. I believe I can keep watch over Timothy."

"It's just a bruised sternum," Tim argued. "Really, I don't need you to-"

"In the morning," Ducky interrupted, "When you realize you should've woken hours earlier to take more of your medicine, and find it near impossible to even summon up the will to get up and get a glass of water in which to take them, you'll regret that presumption."

Tim just about rolled his eyes, and he sighed, "Alright, Ducky. Fine..."

Gibbs smirked, "G'night."

"Night, Boss."

"Goodnight, Jethro. Do try and get some sleep."

101010101

Tony laid, awake, staring at the ceiling. He'd been awake for about ten minutes now. It only took a few moments, this time, to remember where he was. And once he'd seen Gibbs asleep in the chair beside the bed, he was grateful not to be alone; even if he felt he didn't deserve it.

He'd awoken when the pain in his hands had pulled him from the plague of nightmares that had become a permanent fixture in his unconscious state. He wasn't sure which was worse. But for now, he chose the pain, over sleep.

His face felt strange; taut, but not very painful. He couldn't touch it, for obvious reasons, so he tried not to think too much about it. Instead, he allowed his mind to drift back to before all of this; back to when he was...well, back to before he realized he didn't deserve to be happy. Maybe he could let himself pretend, even if it was just for a little while. Just so he could get the images from his nightmares out of his head.

10101010101

Gibbs awoke when the rhythm of the monitor beside him changed. He saw Tony's eyes open, and stood, approaching the bed. "Hey, DiNozzo," he greeted, placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "How ya feelin'?"

Tony met Gibbs' eyes. "Boss," he replied, rather weakly. "Didn't mean to...wake you."

That's when Gibbs noticed his breathing was a bit accelerated. "Wish you would have, earlier," he told him. "Shouldn't have been layin' here awake, without someone to talk to."

"Talk to," he let out a small, tight laugh. "I'm...just happy to...have someone here."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes, though Tony had gone back to looking up at the ceiling. "Never been here alone, Tony." He squeezed his shoulder, "You're in pain."

"Keeps me awake. Keeps me from...seeing the monster." Gibbs pressed the call button. "Jeanne...left me in front of the mirror...for days..." he told him. "Must've come back...whenever I was asleep. Always a fresh IV bag...when I'd wake up. Saw it in the mirror, too..."

"Jeanne is dead," Gibbs told him, willing himself not to show the rage he felt at Tony's revelation.

Tony met his eyes again, "I did that to her, Boss... I turned her into a...monster..."

"No, Tony, ya didn't. She made the choice to be what she became-"

"She didn't choose what I...did to her," he retorted, eyes beginning to glisten. "I thought I...did what was best... Thought I was helping her...but I was wrong. I made her...a monster...Just like me..."

"You're not a monster, Tony," he moved his hand to the side of Tony's face, ignoring the flinch. "Like you said, you thought you were helping. Doesn't sound like something a monster would do."

Tony's gaze shifted, eyes darting about in front of him at nothing in particular, confused.

A nurse finally came in, dialing up the morphine drip a tad, and receiving a grateful nod from Gibbs, before she turned and left them alone.

"She's dead," Tony repeated. "Because of me," he met Gibbs' eyes again.

"She's dead because she pulled a gun on us," Gibbs retorted. "She wanted us to find her."

Tony shook his head, "She wouldn't have shot you."

"She tried to. Got a shot off before she was taken down." The heart monitor picked up his sudden pick-up in heart rate, as visibly flinched and began searching Gibbs with his eyes. "Didn't get me, DiNozzo," he reassured him. "No one was hurt. Well, not critically. McGee was wearing a vest. He's bruised, but okay."

"Were you?" Tony met his eyes again, fearfully. "Were you wearing...a vest, Gibbs?"

"Didn't have time."

"Could've been...killed..." Tony cursed under his breath as he felt a tear escape his eye and track down toward his temple, and he couldn't even wipe it away. "McGee could've...been killed..."

"She didn't get that chance. She chose that path, Tony. I don't know why, but if anyone else is to blame, it's not you. She was angry, and she chose not to let go of that anger. That can do crazy things to a person. But it wasn't your fault, and you didn't deserve was she did to you," he wiped the tracking tear with the back of his hand, and watched as the drugs started to lull Tony back toward sleep. "You wanna be angry at someone, it shouldn't be at yourself. You wanna be angry, be angry at Jeanne. Hell, be angry and Jenny. You were following orders."

"I could've...said no..." he told him, before giving in to the pull of unconsciousness...


	12. Chapter 12

Tony didn't wake again before being taken back to pre-op the next morning. The surgery would take several hours, so Gibbs took advantage of his time. He went home, showered, grabbed a bite to eat, and called to check in on the rest of the team while heading toward the office to update Vance.

Abby had, apparently, gotten into a fight with Ziva the previous night. When Gibbs asked why, Ziva explained that she'd told Abby what Jeanne had done to Tony. And Abby was angry because Ziva killed her without letting her have a go at the woman. Gibbs said nothing, though he smirked on the other line. Then she quickly finished the conversation by saying that they'd worked it out, and no one was seriously injured.

Ducky reported that Tim was in quite some pain, but doing an almost convincing job of hiding it. They, along with the rest of the team (not including Tony, of course) were on their way into the office, as well.

But Gibbs had gotten there quite a bit earlier, gave Vance a full verbal report, and came back down to the bullpen just as the rest of them were getting comfortable.

"Good morning, Gibbs," Ziva greeted.

"Morning, Boss," McGee followed.

"Mornin'," Gibbs replied to them both. "How's your chest, McGee?"

"Not bad. Everything go over well with Vance?" he quickly changed the subject.

"He's pissed," Gibbs said as he sat at his desk. "Like the rest of us. And like the rest of us, there's nothin' to aim it at."

"Tony is in surgery this morning, yes?" Ziva asked.

Gibbs nodded, "Will be for at least another few hours. At which point, I'll be heading outta here. We're passing down any new cases that come through, today," he informed them. "Ziva, if you wanna stick around and help whomever takes it, you can. Otherwise, we're wrapping up these reports." He gave a quick glare to McGee before the younger agent could even begin to contest and try to convince him he could still work.

McGee got the message, loud and clear, and looked back down at his paperwork. It was in that moment, that Gibbs' cell rang. Seeing the number on the ID, he stood from his desk and walked around to the corner of where the wall met the staircase. "This is Gibbs," was the only thing the other agents heard, before he disappeared.

"Who do you suppose that is?" Ziva asked McGee, quietly.

"Not a case, if he left his desk to answer," he replied. "Do you...do ya think it's the hospital?" Tim was suddenly worried.

"It's possible," she replied, her eyes settling somewhere on her desk. Both heads shot up as Gibbs returned to the bullpen.

"Change of plans," he told them as he sifted through some things on his desk. "I've gotta head back to the hospital.

"Is Tony okay?" Tim stood, wincing as he was painfully reminded of his injury.

"Plastic surgeon needs to speak with me and get me to fill out some paperwork for DiNozzo." He grabbed his keys and headed for the elevator.

When the elevator closed, Tim mumbled, "That was fast."

"What, McGee?" Ziva asked, not having heard him.

"Nothing..."

11 00 11 00 11

An hour later, Gibbs walked into autopsy. Ducky was seated at his desk, writing something down, as his assistant, Jimmy Palmer, pulled the sheet back over Jeanne Benoit's face. Gibbs gaze lingered at the covered body for a moment, before turning back to his friend.

"There's a big shot plastic surgeon at Bethesda, right now," he told him. "Flew in from L.A. Apparently, they heard Tony's story and wanted to help."

"Did he?" Ducky replied, looking back to his papers. "News travels fast."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes, "Never said it was a he, Duck."

Ducky turned his chair around and met his friend's eyes, "Timothy made a phone call while at the hospital, last night. This, of course, was after the doctor came in and told them that their usual surgeon had been detained, and wouldn't be able to make it until after the weekend," he explained. "Tim, being the romantic he is...and I don't mean that in a homoerotic sense..." they were interrupted by a sudden crashing of a tray across the room.

"Sorry! Sorry, I've got it..." Jimmy apologized.

Ducky shook his head, "Not that there would be anything wrong, if that were the case, mind you," he continued, "Wanted to make sure to get the best for Anthony. He's well aware that there's not way to erase what happened. But that if he could do something, anything, to help him through this, he would spare no expense."

"Those guys are expensive, Ducky," Gibbs leaned back on the empty cold table.

"As the surgeon told you, he heard the story and wanted to help. He's doing it pro

bono. Tim is simply paying for his travel arrangements and his cost to stay here."

"That's...very generous of him," Gibbs said, pride welling inside of him at the act of his agent.

"Very," the older man agreed. "And do you know what he said, when I told him as much? He said, Tony would have done the same for any of you..."

Gibbs nodded, "Yeah... He's right..."

"What did the surgeon say, Jethro?"

"Said Jeanne did a number on Tony. But that she didn't take into account that we'd have him on call."

"Confident, is he?" Ducky smiled.

"Let's hope he's more than that, Duck..."


	13. Chapter 13

Gibbs wiped a hand down his face as he stood, looking out the window, in Tony's room. They still hadn't brought Tony back from recovery, and that was making him nervous. Behind him, he heard a noise and turned around.

"Boss..." it was McGee, carrying two cups of coffee. He paused there at the door, then made his way into the room and handed one to him. "He's still not out?" he asked, looking a bit worried, himself.

Gibbs shook his head, then took a sip of the coffee, before decidedly sitting in one of the chairs. "Not sure what's takin' so long. He was supposed to be done an hour ago."

"Well," McGee looked down a bit in thought, as he settled into the chair beside Gibbs', "They're probably working on pain management in recovery. Or they might've had to take on a different procedure during the operation, making it a bit longer..."

"They did that," Gibbs told him. "When I came in earlier, they wanted me to okay a...something...some kinda device instead of the pins. Can't think of the name they used."

"An external fixation device?" Tim asked.

"Yeah. Think that's it. Doc said it'll be better, with the amount of damage that was done."

"It'd explain why it's taking longer, too. Especially if they decided on this after you came back in."

Gibbs nodded, taking another sip of his coffee. He met the younger agent's eyes as he spoke, "That was a nice thing you did, Tim." McGee's eyes widened in a bit of surprise. "What you did for Tony; callin' that doctor for him."  
"I just wanted to do something..." he told him. "I wanted to help in some way, and that was one thing I knew I could try and do. I can't make the memories of what happened go away. But at least, maybe, we can take away some of the reminders..."

Gibbs brought a hand up and gave McGee a pat on the back, at which the younger agent winced. Which reminded Gibbs about his injury. "Sorry, McGee. You take your pain killers lately?"

"S'okay, Boss. And I was planning to take more when I got home. It's not so bad, really. As long as I don't move...or breathe..."

Gibbs smirked at that, readying to retort, when suddenly another sound came from the doorway. Both sets of eyes shifted toward the sound, and they saw Tony's bed being wheeled in. McGee's eyes had glued themselves to the devices that encompassed his mentor's hands. They were...horrific, really. He'd seen these things before; even seen pictures of these devices installed on other human beings. But seeing them on Tony, was different.

There were so many wire-entry points within each device, leading into Tony's hands. Tim couldn't imagine how painful it must be. "I know it looks bad," he thought, "But it's the best chance Tony's got for full recovery of his hands. It's the best chance of not causing tissue and nerve damage..."

"I know, Tim," Gibbs told him, and Tim realized he'd said that out loud.

Gibbs was standing now; the staff that had brought Tony in, had set everything up for Tony, and left. He hadn't quite approached the bed, but he was standing.

They both took in the senior field agent's appearance. He looked exhausted, even in his sleep. Eyes puffy with circles beneath them, stood out amongst the pale nature of his skin, yet fit right in with the rough, healing lacerations scattered across his face.

The monstrosity of metal that surrounded his hands from wrist to fingertips, was like something out of a twisted horror film...or maybe some science-fiction movie; it just didn't seem realistic. The wire-pins met his skin; each point of contact swollen from the trauma of entry, and just flat out sickly looking.

"'We can rebuild him," came the soft voice of the patient they'd assumed was asleep. "We have the technology."

Gibbs' lips curled up on either side, glancing back at McGee. "I know this one. Six Million Dollar Man," he said, turning back to look at Tony.

Tony opened his eyes and looked at Gibbs, "Wow, Boss. I'm impressed. A little disappointed in McGoo, for not beating you to that, though," he slurred a bit.

Tim stood and approached the bed, standing beside Gibbs. "Hey..." he greeted, giving a small smile as he met his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Tony let out a small laugh, "Not so bad, right now. When I...woke up earlier, wasn't very fun. But then they gave me the good stuff. So right now, yeah...yeah I'm feelin' pretty damn good, Probilicious..."

"I'm glad...glad you're feeling okay, Tony," McGee told him.

Gibbs was also glad. It was nice to see a spark of their Tony DiNozzo; the Tony they knew. But he knew in his gut, that that's all this was; a spark of him. Whether it be painkiller-induced or a simple temporary amnesic effect of the anesthesia still being in his system, this wasn't going to be how Tony woke up every time...

"I wonder if...I can get a bionic leg, too," Tony said, mid-yawn. "I could be a whole new breed of agent... Very Special Super Agent Anthony DiNozzo... or...Very Super Special...super very special agent... Agent Super Very Special Agent Tony DiNozzo..."

"How about Robo-Tony?" McGee suggested, if nothing more than to get him to stop. Gibbs shook his head.

"I...I like that, Probie! Robo-Tony... Do I get a motorcycle? Wait...did Robocop have a motorcycle? Or was that the Terminator..."

"They both had a motorcycle," Gibbs said, raising a brow, but grinning, all the same. "You're not getting a motorcycle, Tony. NCIS wouldn't deem it necessary."

"What if I needed it, Boss? Like, what if it doubled as a charging station for my robot arms and my bionic leg?" he said, in all seriousness.

"If you need it, I'm sure they might make an exception," he played along, for now. "But you'll never get approved for bionic anything if you don't let yourself rest and heal."

Tony smiled, best he could, "Okay, Boss." Then he looked at Tim, who was also smiling, but had a hand on his chest. "You okay, McGee?"

Tim realized, then, that he'd absentmindedly placed his hand over the aching area over his sternum. He quickly dropped his hand, "Yeah, I'm fine."

Concern grew on Tony's face, "Jeanne shot you..."

"I'm fine, Tony. I was wearing a vest. I'm not hurt; just a little sore, is all," he insisted, hoping to calm Tony down.

But it was too late. The memories that'd drifted happily away for a while, came crashing back. Not that he'd forgotten anything. But it had slipped his memory, that his face was...hideous.

Gibbs and McGee stood, helplessly watching as Tony's previously carefree expression, morphed into one of complete misery. "You shouldn't be here," Tony said, brokenly.

"Tony-"

"McGee, you shouldn't be here," he repeated. "Shouldn't look at me...my face..."

"Tony, it's okay-"

"No, it's not!" he retorted. "It's not okay, McGee! I know what I look like; I had to look at it for days...every time I opened my eyes... I can still see it when I close them. You shouldn't have to be haunted with this image, Tim. Go away...go home..." Tony squeezed his eyes shut.

Tim stood there, a look of devastation on his face, and tears welling in his eyes. Gibbs turned to him, "I'll talk to him. Go on, Tim," he told him, patting his arm. Tim met Gibbs' eyes for a moment, with uncertainty. "It'll be okay," he assured the younger agent. "Go on."

McGee didn't nod. He didn't look reassured or content about leaving. He looked brokenhearted. But he followed his order, turning on his heel and silently left the room...


	14. Chapter 14

"I know that how Jeanne went about it, was wrong," Tony broke the silence that had enveloped the room as McGee had left. "But it doesn't change the facts. Everything...everything about agreeing to Jenny's orders, was wrong. It was like I...wanted to do something horrible; because I was angry..."

"You didn't know how it was gonna turn out, Tony," Gibbs retorted.

"Didn't I?" he met his eyes. "I'm a good investigator, Gibbs. Don't stand there and tell me I didn't see that coming..."

"Didn't know being an investigator made you psychic," he quirked a brow, pulling his chair close the the bed, before sitting, not letting go of his hold on Tony's eyes. "So I won't stand and tell you, then. I'm sitting. You didn't know how that was gonna turn out."

"My smartass rubbin' off on you, Boss?" he raised his brows.

"Maybe," Gibbs stifled a grin. "Sometimes, it's necessary."

"Doesn't change anything," he held his gaze.

"Only reason you're not letting go of that belief, is because she drilled it into you. Literally. Torture isn't always about getting information out of people. It can be about conditioning them to think or act a certain way; believe certain things. And like most of those times, it's not true. If it were true, she wouldn't have needed to hurt you, to make you believe it."

"She hurt me to stop me from doing it again," he told him. Gibbs narrowed his eyes. "She didn't want me to be able to do it again...to anyone else," his gaze finally broke from the older agent, and drifted up to the ceiling. "She made sure I couldn't work again," his voice cracked, "Because then I couldn't take a case like hers again. She made sure I..." his eyes darted around, "I'd look like...this...So I'd look on the outside, how I am on the inside; a warning to anyone who comes along..."

"That's shit, DiNozzo," he stood, causing Tony to meet his eyes again. "She made you look like this, and told you that this was why. Problem is, she didn't know you at all. She knew Tony DiNardo, not Tony DiNozzo. And this is what all of that was about; not the Tony that would never take on a case like that again. Not the Tony that's beaten himself up about everything revolving around her and that case since the day it ended. Not the Tony who hasn't really been the same, because he was so affected by the pain he was forced to cause her, that he couldn't even think about relationships the same...for years."

"I could've said no!"

"By the time you knew what was happening, it would've been too late to, without still hurting her. Face it, Tony; you're not a monster. You got caught up in a bad situation that ended ugly. Hell, it wouldn't even have ended that way, had you had any choice in the matter. You would've done things differently. But you did what you could to let her down easy; gave her what she needed in order to move on. That's not something a monster would do. That's something a human being does; makes mistakes. And if you really wanna get technical," he looked down toward the mattress, but not at anything in particular, and started walking around the bed toward the other side. "Yeah, you were angry. You chose to take on a case you knew didn't sit right with you. You foresaw it ending badly for someone; maybe you saw it end bad for both of you. But you took it anyway, because you were pissed. And that's because of a mistake I made."

Tony's eyes shot to Gibbs', at the finish of the sentence. Now that Gibbs was on the other side of the bed, the window lighting up his features, Tony could see the true agony in the man's eyes, and for once, wasn't completely certain what was causing it.

"I don't know about you, but I don't consider myself a monster for leaving like I did," he started, a bit more softly. Tony's eyes shifted as he remembered, like it was yesterday, how much it had hurt to have the team leader walk out on them, just years ago. "I had my reasons; I was pissed, frustrated...and didn't fully remember how much being with my team meant to me. Leaving...felt like the right thing to do, even though I saw it hurt people. Hell, coming back again, I think that might've hurt a bit, too."

"Only the mustache, Boss."

"Don't start," he glared, without much bite. "Point is, you were angry, too. You made a decision based on that anger, and entered into something there was no turning back from, without someone getting hurt, regardless. It was a mistake, Tony. A human mistake.

"Jeanne, on the other hand," he continued, "We made the mistake of not keeping an eye on her. When she tried to frame you for her father's death, that should've been a sign. But we let it go, because it was a woman's scorn; a ridiculous attempt at revenge, but something that wasn't completely impossible to understand. A normal human being, enraged with heartbreak or not, would've felt satisfied with the crap that caused. Would've felt remorseful for causing it, but satisfied. Jeanne didn't. Something fueled her hatred, whether there was something clinically wrong with her head, or otherwise. Point is, is it was unjustified anger. Your mistake might've pissed her off, but it didn't warrant her reaction, and it doesn't make you a monster.

"I'm done hearing that, DiNozzo. You hear me? You are not a monster. I'll keep sayin' it, if I have to. And I won't shut up, either." Tony just stared at Gibbs; eyes darting back and forth between his. "Well, say somethin'," Gibbs insisted.

"I just...I've never heard you say so much, in one go, Boss."

The older man narrowed his eyes, "You bein' in a hospital bed, never stopped me from head-slappin' ya before." Tony let out a small, yet sincere laugh, which warmed Gibbs' heart a bit; something he couldn't quite understand why. He took a step forward, placing a gentle hand on the top of Tony's head, feeling the younger man tense for just a moment, but then relax. "I wanna hear you say it, Tony. Say it out loud, because it's the truth."

Tony swallowed against the dryness in his throat, "I...I'm not a...monster..."

"Now...believe it," Gibbs absentmindedly stroked his thumb at the hairline atop Tony's forehead. The action somewhat calmed Tony.

With glistening, red eyes, Tony took a breath, not looking away from his boss. "I'm not a monster," he repeated, in almost a whisper. Gibbs let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and a relieved smile snuck it's way to his face. The rare sight made a grin tug at the corners of Tony's mouth. "But she sure made certain I look like one, didn't she..."


	15. Chapter 15

McGee plopped down in his chair in front of his computer at home, two days worth of mail piled in his lap to go through. Though it'd hurt him dearly, to leave Tony's hospital room after his mentor's slight back-step, he trusted that Gibbs was taking care of everything. He didn't really have any other choice.

Tim sorted through the mail, like he always did. Junk in one pile, bills in the other. Personal stuff, he liked to open first; though that was more rare to receive. However, there was a large envelope from his publisher, on the bottom of the pile. He'd not been expecting anything from them, and apparently it'd been sent out a week ago from the office.

He carefully opened the envelope and pulled out a manuscript with a note on the top. It read:

Mr. Gemcity,

Please take a look at this and tell me what you think. It's a new author, and I think it's pretty gruesome and risky, but it's also pretty bold. I thought I'd run it by you, since your work is in the crime-fiction category, and I know that I can trust you with it. I also ran it by the author, Grace Pulaski, who said it would be fine, and that she'd be honored for you to take a look at it.

Let me know what you think. You've got my number.

This was actually great. He needed to get his mind off of things for a while, and sitting up to play video games was something his chest seemed to be protesting. He cast the rest of the mail aside on his desk, and moved to his bed to get comfortable.

The title of the book was Joseline's Revenge. He flipped to the prologue...

The actual story begins with anger. But it was preempted with pain and sorrow; brokenhearted agony that changed her life forever. And before that, it began with love...

Josie met the love of her life, when he came through the glass doors of the dental clinic. Thomas had lost a filling and needed it replaced. Josie was the one to treat him.

Tom flirted, and though Josie wasn't one to take seriously any of her clients, she couldn't avoid his charm. He was cute. She liked him. And she'd ended up accepting an offer to dinner.

Three weeks later, they were inseparable. It seemed that, through thick and thin, Tom was a perfect match for Josie. As time went on, things simply got more serious. Eventually, after close to a year, they'd even made plans to move in together. Everything seemed perfect.

Then everything went to hell.

Josie arranged for Tom to meet her father. While some people might find that a stressful situation, Tom felt it even deeper. Why? Because Tom wasn't who he'd said he was. Josie found that out the hard way, as he pulled her aside and confessed that he wasn't the college professor he'd told her he was. But that he was really a cop, and he was undercover, attempting to get information on her father...

McGee's gut clenched. This story sounded awfully familiar. He skipped ahead to the first chapter.

Step One. Lure Thomas to the car, under false hopes of closure after the way things ended.

Josie didn't have a problem with this, at all. She'd gotten him to the car, distracted him, and covered his mouth with a cloth soaked in chloroform.

Once he was out, she drove him back to the prepared office she'd set up. One where no one could hear his screams...

Tim's heart was racing now. He flipped forward, stopping on a random page nearest the end.

Josie had dumped Tom's broken body in front of his real employer's home. She'd kill his friends later, when she could get to more than just one at a time.

Tim slammed the booklet closed, breathing hard with anger, and picked up his phone...

11 00 11 00 11

Ducky entered Tony's hospital room later in the evening, taking his hat off as he approached the chairs, quietly. Tony was asleep, but Gibbs had been reading the paper, awaiting the older man to come and take over the next shift.

Once he saw Ducky, he quietly folded up the paper and picked up his half-empty cup of coffee from the chair beside his, as stood. But it looked like his friend had come for more than just to take over. Gibbs narrowed his eyes as Ducky motioned for him to come out to the hall.

Once they reached the hall, the older man turned to face him, "Timothy came across a rather disturbing discovery this evening," he told him. "A parcel arrived on his doorstep from his publisher, containing a manuscript from another author. The story it contains seems to dictate in detail, what happened to Anthony."

"What?" Gibbs furrowed his brows.

"Tim has tried contacting their mutual publisher, but at this hour, she's not in. He's gone in to NCIS to try and track her down, himself. I told the lad he should wait until morning, but he insisted there was work that couldn't wait. And though I agree that this is a bit urgent, I'm also keenly aware that he's not had his pain killers today, and he's overdoing it; he could cause himself further harm."

Gibbs nodded to him, "I'll take care of it, Duck. Thanks."

11 00 11 00 11

McGee rubbed the space between his eyebrows, clenching his eyes closed against the throbbing pain that had started several minutes earlier. It was frustrating, trying to find answers at this time of night. There was only so much a person could do until it was an appropriate time to contact people. He was frustrated, mostly, because had he opened his mail the night before, he could've gotten more answers by now.

"Tim," Gibbs' voice sounded over him, and he looked up in surprise.

"Boss!"

"You got your pain killers with you?"

"Yeah, but I can't take them until I'm home. Can't drive with them in my system." McGee was surprised that this was the first question to come from the lead agent.

"Take them, McGee. I'll drive you home-"

"I can't go home yet, Boss-"

"When you're finished," he completed. "I'll take you home when you're finished with whatever you're trying to do."

"Thank you," he said, with a furrowed brow, then reached into his pocket to fetch the bottle.

Gibbs pulled Tony's desk chair a bit closer to Tim's desk and sat. "Ducky told me what you found," he told him. "Start at the beginning."

Tim swallowed the pills, then handed Gibbs the manuscript that was on his desk. "Got this in the mail from my publisher. It came yesterday or the day before, but I didn't see it until tonight. I'm sorry, Boss."

"Nothin' to apologize for; you know the rules, McGee. Besides, we've been kinda busy. Think you've got an excuse."

"Right... Well, I wish I had, because then I could get a hold of someone. I managed to find a number and address for the author, but it's late, and I can't be a hundred percent positive that this isn't just a coincidence."

"You read the book?"

"I skimmed through it, once it started to sound a bit too familiar. I know how you feel about coincidences, Boss. I couldn't just let this go. So I came in and did a search on her. Looked for any connection to Benoit. So far, I've found nothing..."

"You did good, Tim. You've got the contact information. We'll deal with this in the morning. In the meantime, I'll read through this. Once I take you home, of course."

"But the search-"

"Can wait till morning. If this is what you think it is, it's enough to bring her in for questioning. Let me take you home, McGee."

After a moment, McGee reluctantly nodded...


	16. Chapter 16

"Ms. Pulaski, thanks for coming in," Gibbs said as he sat down at the conference table. The petite woman sat cross-legged in the chair, somewhat resembling a child.

"It was no problem," she smiled. "I was heading in to the city to meet with someone, anyway."

"Right," he nodded. "Thom E. Gemcity," he said as he set the manuscript down on the table in between them.

"Yes...how did you... Wait, is that my-"

"Yeah, it's your book, Ms. Pulaski."

"How on Earth did you get that?" she placed both feet firmly to the floor. "That's not supposed to be available to the public!"

"Oh it's not. In fact, I'm not sure it will be."

"What's the supposed to mean? It's not a forgery-"

"Where did you get this story, Grace?"

"I wrote it," she said through gritted teeth.

"Let me rephrase," Gibbs said, calmly. "Where did you come up with the idea?"

Grace took a calming breath and let it out, slowly. "A friend of mine, if you must know, went through a difficult break-up. She came to me; we talked. She roomed with me for a long while, and the subject came up so often, that I came to despise her ex. I started thinking of a storyline; a way that she could pay him back for what he did, theoretically..."

"Theoretically," he scoffed. Grace narrowed her eyes. "Your friend's name, Jeanne Benoit," he said, waiting for a response. Grace's brows lifted, telling him what he'd wanted to know. "You have any idea where she is now?"

"She went on vacation about two weeks ago," she narrowed her eyes again. "Why?"

"She tell you where she was going?"

"Is she in trouble?" she asked.

"Did she tell you where she was taking her vacation?" he asked a bit more sternly.

"She said she was meeting with an old friend," she finally replied.

"She tell you that old friend was her ex?" Grace cocked her head. "Did you show Jeanne this manuscript, Ms. Pulaski?" he asked. She blinked a few times, processing what he'd asked. Her eyes widened and darted around on the table-top. "You did, didn't you?"

"Oh god... What...what are you telling me?" she looked up at him again.

"Your book is a fairly clear and detailed description of everything she did to her ex; my agent. You gave her everything she needed to get her revenge..."

Grace shook her head in shock, then her face turned a shade of green before she turned and vomited on the floor beside her chair. Her head hung there as she breathed heavily. "I...I didn't...think she would...ever...ever..." tears were thick in her voice. "Oh god...that poor man...That poor man... God, what have I done?"

Gibbs sat, silently, watching the woman for any sign that she was just putting on a show. But she seemed to be legitimately shocked and upset, if the throwing up hadn't already indicated as much. The look on her face now, as she sat up, made him think that maybe she'd do it again.

"Did...did she do...everything?" her eyes met his again, in question. "Everything in the book?"

Gibbs narrowed his eyes, trying to narrow down what specific thing she might be questioning.

"Did she...kill anyone?" she nearly whispered, seeming on the verge of breaking down.

"She tried," he told her. "She only succeeded in getting herself killed."

"Oh Jeanne..." her face fell into her hands as she cried. "Why did you do this? Why...?" she sobbed.

Gibbs ran a hand down his face. This was not how he'd pictured this would go. He'd believed that he'd have someone else to hate; someone else to blame for what happened. But this woman...clearly, she hadn't foreseen the insanity that Jeanne Benoit was capable of. She was just as guilty as the rest of them, in that.

Torn between feeling sorry for her, and wanting to rip her head off for giving Jeanne the idea, he stood, "Someone will be back here in a minute." With that, he turned and headed out of the conference room. McGee was standing on the opposite wall from the door, and met his eyes as he came out.

"Boss?" he pushed off of the wall.

"Don't think she knew," he replied. "She wrote it after hearing Jeanne's version of what happened between her and Tony. Then thought up the rest. Jeanne took it literally...used it, though that was never Grace's intention."

McGee's eyes darted around for a moment before he nodded in acknowledgment. "I'll talk to her, Boss."

Gibbs nodded and headed off toward the stairs up to Vance's office. McGee approached the door to the conference room, paused with his hand on the handle, then entered the room.

Grace was sniffling, her knees pulled up to her chest with her arms snugly holding them in place there. Her gaze was fixed on the manuscript as though it had ruined her life. Tim approached and sat down in the chair beside hers. Her eyes met his, and there was a flicker of recognition.

"Mr...Gemcity?" she asked in a broken voice.

"Yeah," he gave her a half smile.

"You...you gave them this... Why didn't you tell me?" she sniffed again.

"We couldn't be sure if you were an accomplice," he replied. "We had to know, for sure."

She nodded, looking back down at the manuscript, then shook her head, "I can't publish this, now. This...this is wrong. I can't believe this happened... Someone was horrifically tortured and ruined for the rest of his life, because of me. And Jeanne...she's dead...because of this..."

"You didn't make this happen, Grace," he leaned forward in his chair. "Jeanne was sick, clearly. A normal human being wouldn't have even considered doing this."

"I don't think I could ever write again..."

"Don't talk like that," he stood, and her gaze followed him as he walked to the coffee maker. "I had a manuscript written out for one of the Deep Six books," he began, "And someone got a hold of it; took my typewriter ribbon, of all things, and started killing people because my book stated it." He turned and set a cup of coffee in front of Grace, before sitting back down. "I wanted to stop writing. After everything that'd happened, how could I not blame myself? They were my ideas; I based them on real people, and someone found those people and killed them...because I put that in the book."

"How did you...get over it?" she asked, swiping at her eyes.

"I didn't. Not completely, anyway. It's still there in the back of my mind, no matter what logic I put to it. But I also know that there are billions of stories out there; horrific things depicted in a lot of them. Because something in one of mine was chosen by some psycho to reenact, isn't my fault."

"But...the things I wrote," she cringed, "She did...all of those things. How could I have written so much cruelty... I don't even understand where it all came from!"

"It's fiction; or well, it's supposed to be," he gave her a half smile. "We're not writing as an instruction manual, so it never crosses our minds that we need to hold back. That's not what passionate writing is about. Tony is my friend," he told her, leaning forward again. "He's...like a brother to me. Seeing what she did to him, kills me," he hadn't intended on allowing his emotions to show to this woman, but the tears began to sting his eyes. "But I don't blame you for it," he told her. "You've got a pretty vivid imagination for horror," he gave another half smile, "But you wrote it in light of whatever story Jeanne gave you about what happened between her and Tony. You wrote it because you cared that she was hurting over it, maybe to make her feel a little better. It's not your fault, what she did with that. You can't blame yourself..."

Grace lowered her head and swiped the tears away from her cheeks again. Then she met his eyes, "Will...will you...tell me the real story?" she asked. "The way it actually happened?"


	17. Chapter 17

Gibbs paced back and forth in front of Tony's hospital room door. He hadn't been allowed in, because the hospital psychologist was in with Tony. The only comfort was knowing that the room wasn't sound-proof. If Tony became agitated, Gibbs would hear it and go in.

It'd been twenty minutes, and he wasn't exactly sure how long he'd been in there before he got to the hospital in the first place. He was starting to lose his patience, mostly because he was worried about what was going on in there. But just as he readied himself to burst in the door, it opened, and the older woman walked calmly out, closing the door behind her.

She met his eyes and seemed to know exactly who he was. "Hello, Agent Gibbs," she smiled. He narrowed his eyes at her. "I'm not sure what you said to Anthony, but I want to thank you for it. You've made my job...a hell of a lot easier than I could've imagined."

"Do I know you?" Gibbs asked.

"No, no," she let out a small laugh. "But we heard you pacing outside the door, and he told me who you were, what you were probably thinking as you waited, and then got to actually answering some of the questions he'd earlier refused to talk about." Gibbs didn't reply, but kept eye contact with her, lifting his chin a bit, as he waited for her to continue. "I expected to walk into that room to find a broken victim of horribly unfathomable torture. Instead, I found a man who'd been broken, but had taken a step toward healing and becoming a survivor."

Gibbs took a breath. He'd prepared himself for dealing with a good-for-nothing shrink who knew nothing about him SFA. Instead, this one seemed to have him somewhat figured out.

"My name is Brianna. Brianna Taylor," she held out her hand to him. He took it and shook it. "I'd like to continue meeting with Anthony. Though, mostly, to see how he progresses with the help of his friends," she raised her brows. "I'm a firm believer that true friends do exist, and they can actually be helpful in some cases where words can make a difference. There are plenty of people who think they're helping, when really they're a hindrance. But I can see that this isn't the case, here.

"I've approved his reconstructive facial surgery, though I'm not sure he's even aware that it's an option, at this point," she told him. "I agree with the fancy shmancy Dr. Troy from Los Angeles," she smirked, "I believe it will help him in the healing process. And since it's not the first step, I find that much easier to agree to." She gave him a warm smile and handed him a card, "We'll be in touch. I know he's eager to see you, so you best go on in, now. Nice to meet you, Agent Gibbs."

"You too, Ms. Taylor." He watched her make her way down the hall, then turned to let himself into the room.

"Boss!" Tony looked relieved as the older man entered the room. "I was worried for a minute that she'd try and psychoanalyze you out there...and you'd need to hide a body."

"She wasn't so bad," he shook his head, with a small grin on his face, as he pulled up a chair.

"Wasn't so bad?" Tony widened his eyes. "She completely tricked me into talking to her..."

"Tricked you, eh?" he smirked.

"She did," he laid he head back on the pillow, the fight quickly leaving him.

"She seemed alright."

"I guess..."

"Knew my name," he quirked a brow.

Tony looked over at him, "She asked if I knew who was pacing the door." Gibbs gave him an acknowledging nod and waited for him to settle back a bit. "I talked to her...about what we talked about. I'm not sure what to make of her, Boss." He closed his eyes and shook his head, as if trying to clear it. Then he opened them again, "Didn't much like being shut up in here alone with her," he said, more quietly.

Gibbs' eyes darted for a moment before narrowing them in a sudden shining of awareness. No wonder his gut had been screaming at him. Tony had been shut up in a room with a female doctor for over half an hour. Whether he realized it or not, it'd made him nervous and on edge.

He was quick to leave the subject, cataloging it away for a later time, and brought up something more promising. "There's a guy that flew in from L.A to help you," Gibbs told him. Tony looked over at him, curiously. Gibbs suddenly got the nagging feeling that maybe Tony wouldn't want this. But it was too late to back out of telling him, now. "He wants to try and reverse the damage done to your face," he said in a casual, yet supportive voice.

"A...plastic surgeon?" Tony asked, raising his brows. Gibbs nodded, not looking away from his face, even though Tony's eyes darted around elsewhere in thought. "That's pretty expensive...more than I could afford..."

"What if that wasn't an issue?"

Tony met his eyes again, "If I was rolling, Boss, sure I'd do it. But as you know, I never made it to Vegas..."

"Surgeon wants to do it pro bono," he told him.

Tony flinched a bit, "Why?"

"Why not? He wanted to help an agent serving his country."

"Are you sure he's legit?"

"Checked him out, myself," Gibbs nodded. "Right after McGee did. You sayin' you're up to accepting the offer?" he asked. "Ya know you don't have to."

Tony turned his face straight forward-facing. He thought, as he stared at the far wall; thought about how his face looked, glaring back at him in the reflection of the mirror. "Not accepting it...would be like accepting what Jeanne did to me," he answered, finally.

"Yeah," Gibbs answered, standing from the chair and approaching the side of the bed.

"Might be nice to show my face around my friends again, too," he halfheartedly smiled. "Ya know, not looking like someone...something else," his gaze turned to Gibbs.

"It's your decision, Tony," he told him. "But you're friends will still love you, no matter what. Besides," he put a hand back on Tony's head, and gave him a small smile, "I still see you..."


	18. Chapter 18

5 days later...

Tony cracked open his eyes, finally seeing the light of the new day pouring through the window. He felt a tugging at the corner of his lips, that he was sure must be a smile. Today, he'd get the bandages off. He'd see the swelling gone down and finally agree to a mirror again.

He'd asked days before, after waking from the initial surgery as they were changing the bandages. Gibbs had been there as they held the mirror for him. When Tony had finished throwing up, he blamed the anesthesia still in his system. And perhaps that'd been part of it. But in reality, he'd expected to see something a bit less gruesome as he had in the mirror in Jeanne's 'lair'.

Gibbs knew. Gibbs always knew. And since that moment, the older man had been reassuring him that it'd get better once the swelling went down. In fact, now that Tony thought back on it, Gibbs had made a face, albeit one not many would recognize, but Tony had. It was a face of hesitation, when Tony had asked for a mirror. He couldn't blame Gibbs for allowing him to look; it wasn't his decision, after all.

But after all the reassuring, Tony couldn't help but to have hope that Gibbs' reassurance was the truth.

He'd been up a few times before, disappointed that the day hadn't yet started. But finally, it was light out. And though he'd be waiting a bit longer, he was happy to have finally gotten through the endless night. Somehow, the thought made him all the sleepier. There was no more requirement to rest, therefore the daylight seemed like bonus time to close his eyes, while no one was around to keep him occupied.

Tony could tell the moment Gibbs was in his room, even with his eyes closed. There was no mistaking the smell of coffee, and the very faint scent of Gibbs' basement. Usually it was a bit stronger, but he'd not been spending much time down there these days.

"You awake?" Gibbs asked, knowing full well that he was, but trying not to be rude about it.

"Yeah, Boss," he replied, without opening his eyes. "Just resting; waiting. How was work?"

"Slow," he answered. "How was Days of Our Lives?"

Tony let out a small laugh, "Boss...that show's not even on anymore, I don't think."

"On the right channel for it," Gibbs motioned toward the TV mounted on the wall.

Tony raised a brow, "You admitting to knowing the channel it was on?"

"How many times do I need to remind you-"

"Right... Wives, Boss. Gotcha."

"You're nervous," Gibbs approached the bed side.

"Anxious, maybe," is all he'd admit to.

"Heard 'em talkin' out in the hall," he told him. "They're getting ready to come in."

"Yeah?" Tony shifted his shoulders a bit.

Gibbs smirked, letting Tony's obvious nervous behavior slide. A nurse came in, following the plastic surgeon Gibbs had met with on several occasions over the past week.

"Good afternoon, Agent Gibbs," he greeted. Gibbs nodded to him, and the doctor looked to Tony. "You ready, Tony?"

"As I'll ever be," he replied, shakily, though he'd done his best to try and hide it.

"Carly, whenever you're ready," he told the nurse, who immediately went to Tony's side and began removing the bandages.

Gibbs stood out of the way, catching a glimpse of motion under the blanket, of Tony's foot. His toes were flexing and curling beneath the cloth; a motion that normally would've been performed by his hands, but since that wasn't possible right now, he'd been doing with the only other option.

Tony had, at first, opted to look at the ceiling, determined not to allow the reactions of anyone else to effect his own reaction. But as the bandages were carefully and quickly peeled, he found himself in need of comfort, and his eyes sought out those of his boss's. To his surprise, embarrassingly enough, but also grateful beyond belief, Gibbs was already looking at him. And he held that gaze until the very last moment.

He watched for a reaction from the older man, but damn him, he had a great poker face.

"You ready, Tony?" the doctor's voice sounded beside him, and Tony reluctantly pulled his gaze from Gibbs, and turned it to the other man, giving him a short nod. Carly held the mirror up for him. It took a moment for Tony to let himself look into it.

There are moments in one's life where you feel like it's time to cut some kind of deal with a higher power. Maybe make some sacrifices; think you'll give up something in order to have another. Up until this point, Tony had been pretty heavily praying to whomever might be listening, that he'd get some semblance of normalcy back; have his face look a bit less monstrous, so that he wouldn't get the inevitable looks and whispers for his remaining days.

Now, however, as he looked at his face in the mirror, he hoped that this wasn't going to be his one blessing. He was glad, mind you. With the swelling gone down, he simply looked as though he'd been in a fight with a mad feline. But if this was his one good outcome out of everything he might have to look forward to, he wished he'd put his prayers to better use...


	19. Chapter 19

One week later...

Though the plan had initially been to bring Tony back to his apartment, there was just no way that the configuration of it would allow for him to get easily in and out, with the stairs and all. At least, that's what Tony had settled on being the reason. But in reality, he really didn't even want to see the parking lot where he'd been stupid enough to make the decision to get into Jeanne's car.

So they'd gone to Gibbs' house. It worked best on many levels; the choice of being able to stay on the ground level, at least until his leg healed enough to walk on. Without use of his arms, he'd be unable to even use crutches to get himself around. He still had a few weeks to go, until he'd get the cast off and be able to put weight on it.

Another reason, and the most obvious, was that he would need help, and Gibbs would be there. And when Gibbs couldn't be there, the location of the house we fairly center to the rest of those on the team. As much as they'd all wished they could take enough leave to simply be there for him the whole way, it wasn't going to happen.

Vance was already huffing about the fact that the MCRT was down a man. With someone from the agency, whether it be one of the team, or his forensic specialist or medical examiner, or even the older man's assistant, they'd consistently be two persons short. No one could really argue with that point.

In light of that, Ducky had done a fair bit of research to find an in-home care nurse for the days that there was simply no way they could be away from the office. Finding one with the expertise to do the job wasn't the difficult part. Making sure to have McGee and Ziva do extensive background checks, however, was something they had to set a bit of time aside to get done.

In the meantime, it was the weekend. Gibbs made sure to secure an agreement with Vance that his team not be on call for the duration of it. It was, in fact, the least the director could do for them. There would be an adjustment period for Tony, now that he was out of the hospital, and Gibbs wanted to be there with him for it.

Abby had assisted in helping to prepare the downstairs spare room. In the bathroom, they had laid out all of the medical supplies they'd need for the next couple of weeks. Using the bathroom was a near-impossible feat for Tony. It'd been the single most embarrassing part of all of this, for him. There'd been a point where he'd grown so frustrated, that he'd flipped out on Abby at the hospital for wanting to help. But he didn't want his friends to see him like that..well, to see those parts of him, anyway. There was nothing more humiliating than to literally need someone to tuck him back in, wipe his ass, or pull him his damned pants for him. But really, there wasn't much choice in the matter.

Since discovering his ability to leave the hospital, he'd inwardly panicked on several occasions about this very situation; the fact that there wasn't going to be hospital staff to help him with those things, and he'd need to depend on his friends. His solution, unbeknownst to his peers, was that he'd simply not eat anything for a while. He knew that wouldn't last very long; maybe a week. But it'd be long enough to bay his panic for the time being.

Getting into the car to go to Gibbs, made him more aware of how ridiculously dependent he was. It wasn't even that he didn't have use of his hands, but the fact that he needed to be wary of them, careful not to hit the external devices on anything, made it even more difficult. He found himself using his elbows to balance and maneuver himself, and he was able to keep himself upright on one foot when transferring from the wheelchair to the passenger side of the car. But with only one weight-bearing foot, there was no way to lower himself in, gracefully or not, without assistance. He'd actually begun to outwardly panic for a moment, before Gibbs grabbed either side of Tony's waist and instructed him to lower himself in, trusting Gibbs not to let him fall.

He did trust Gibbs. Trusted him with everything. But it didn't stop the lingering fear of falling anyway. If he fell, he could land on his arms and mess up everything that'd been healing so far. Not to mention that that'd hurt like a bitch. And without a morphine drip, the past day had been a bit of easing into torture. Sure, they'd weaned him and gotten him started on an oral painkiller regimen. But those didn't seem nearly as effective.

In short, Tony felt like a very whiny, completely dependent toddler. And when night came, he found himself wanting nothing more than to cry and to hold onto someone. But even if he could bring himself to show that to someone, he wouldn't be able to hold anything. That made him feel even more pathetic. He'd wanted, so many times, to simply hold one of the many hands that'd come to be with him at the hospital. And he couldn't do that.

So tonight, he rolled carefully onto his side, keeping cautious of how he laid his arms, in the process. And when he was sure no one was near the bedroom, he let himself cry as silently as he could manage, and prayed that no one would be in before the tears dried from his cheeks...because he couldn't even wipe them the hell away...

101010101

Gibbs finished with his one glass of bourbon in the basement, after going through some things down there. Nothing in particular, but something to get his mind off of things. He switched off the light as he reached the top of the stairs, and quietly approached the spare room's door, intending to check in on the should-be sleeping agent in his care.

What he hadn't expected, was to hear the soft sound of near-silent crying. Glancing down at his watch, he wondered if he'd missed Tony's medication, or something of the sort. Quietly, he pushed open the door. The younger man was on his side, back facing the door. Not wanting to alarm him, but make his presence known, though the light shining into the room now should've been an indication, he spoke, softly, "Tony? You okay?" he took a few steps into the room.

"Damnit..." Tony cursed, sniffling in attempt to stifle the tears. "I'm fine, Boss...please go away."

"You in pain?" he asked, rounding the bed, ignoring the agent's plea.

"Not in pain," he replied, begging a higher power to magically erase the signs of crying from his face. "Fuck... Please, Gibbs...just leave me alone."

Slightly taken back from the rare cursing from Tony, Gibbs narrowed his eyes for a moment as he crouched down beside the bed, grabbing a tissue from the box on the table. "No," he replied, simply, and wiped Tony's cheeks as if it were the most casual, normal thing in the world. "Tell me what's wrong," he spoke again. Tony closed his eyes and shook his head, swallowing against the lump in his throat. "Please," Gibbs pleaded.

"Damnit," Tony thought. "Damnit damnit damnit." There was no way he could ignore the rare 'please' from his boss. "I'm sorry," he said, after a moment; his voice cracking, as if the higher power he'd been pleading with, was trying to rub it in his face even more. "'m sorry you have to take care of me, Boss. You shouldn't have to do this. I'm completely useless, right now... You shouldn't have to do all of this for me."

"I don't have to," he replied, wiping away a fresh tear from Tony's cheek. "I want to."

Tony opened his eyes to meet his boss's. "Why? Why would you wanna literally do everything from spoon-feeding to zipping my pants? It's like havin' a preschooler..."

"'Cause I care about you, DiNozzo," he replied, without hesitation, and so smoothly, that anyone would've thought he said it on a regular basis. Tony wasn't sure how to respond. So he simply looked at Gibbs as if he'd grown a second head. "You sure that's the only thing buggin' you?" The look on Tony's face changed back to a mixture of what Gibbs had seen when he'd walked in, and maybe a bit of fear, as well.

Tony's eyes darted away, and he just barely shook his head. The room grew silent, and when Tony looked back at his boss, Gibbs' eyes had wandered somewhere else, looking to be in deep thought. It was several moments later that he stood from his position beside the bed, knee cracking in protest, though he didn't seem to have been affected by it.

"When Kelly was four," he spoke, slowly making his way around the bed, "She had nightmares, every night for about a week." Tony swallowed, remaining still and silent as he listened to his boss's rare mentioning of his daughter. "Shannon would go to her room," Tony felt the bed dip beside him, "And lay with her; hold her till she'd fall back to sleep," his hand settled on Tony's bicep, and the younger man realized that Gibbs was laying behind him now. "And she'd stay there, eventually the whole night, because we realized that her being there with her, stopped the nightmares from coming. Whatever the reason was for her having them in the first place, we never really knew. But Shannon just needed to be there, just for that last couple of days, and they stopped."

Tony found himself relaxing, just with Gibbs' hand on his arm like that. "But I'm pretty sure it was more that she was holding onto her, that made her feel better," Gibbs continued. "She just needed that reassurance that someone was there; that they were there for her." He scooted a bit closer. "If this is too weird, let me know. Just wanna be here for you, Tony."

Tony lay, quiet and still, and felt Gibbs' hand leave his shoulder, and he almost panicked at the loss. But then he felt Gibbs' arm settle around his chest, and his body scoot close enough that Tony's head fit gently back against his boss's chest. Tony nearly cried with relief; something he hadn't expected in this gesture.

After a few long moments of silence, Tony said, in nearly a whisper, "Thanks, Boss..."


	20. Chapter 20

"I'm telling you what I've told Ducky," Gibbs said to McGee as they rode to his house. "Whatever DiNozzo needs done, do it without asking if he wants help. You can ask him if he wants something. But if it's something you know he needs, just do it."

"Has he had the pin-sites cleaned today?" Tim asked, knowing the procedure already, as he'd been at the hospital on several occasions when the nurses were performing the task, themselves.

"Did it this morning. I'll do it again tonight. All you need to worry about, is not lookin' like you're worried."

"Uh...but..."

"No buts, McGee," he turned to look at him for a moment, then back to the road. "Just gotta trust me on this."

"Right. Okay, Boss. I...I can try. I mean...I'll do it. I'll...I can do this," he corrected himself. Gibbs glanced at him, smirking as he turned back to the road in front of him.

It had been Ziva's day with Tony, and the workday was over with. But Gibbs had a meeting with SecNav in half an hour, and he had no idea how long it would take. So McGee was taking over the shift, and in all honesty, he was glad that it was finally his turn. It seemed every time it was supposed to be his shift, someone needed him at the office and there was no way around it.

Now that it was his turn, however, he was nervous. He wanted to see Tony, but he also really didn't want to mess up. He took a moment to use the bathroom as Gibbs explained to Tony why he'd had to make a change in plans, then left to take Abby home.

McGee came out of the bathroom, wiping still slightly damp hands on his shirt as he walked into Tony's room. There was a movie playing on the television that Abby must have started sometime before they got there.

"Hey, Probie," Tony gave him a small smile. "Thanks again for setting up my dvd player and stuff for me. I'd go crazy if I had to just stare at the walls all day."

"No problem, Tony," he said, feeling himself relax a fraction. "I'm glad I could do something to help."

"Think you could rig me up one of those straw thingies like Denzel uses in The Bone Collector?"

"What?"

"You know...The Bone Collector? The movie with him and Angelina Jolie. Denzel plays this super great detective who ends up paralyzed. Queen Latifah is his nurse. He's got this hospital bed thing at his place, and there's this straw thing he can blow into and it'll control things, like the bed rising..."

"Yeah, okay, I know what you mean," Tim replied, quirking a brow. "But what would you need that for?"

"I...need some way to work a remote," Tony said in a matter-of-fact way.

"You've got someone here that can do that much for you," he dismissed.

"Yeah, I know," he looked back toward the TV. "I just hate having to keep asking." Tim looked down at his feet, hating that he'd already screwed up. "Hey, you wanna watch this with me?" Tony's voice made him look up again.

"What're you watching?" he looked over at the screen. "I don't think I've seen this before."

"Yeah, you have," Tony contradicted. "You watched it at my place a couple years ago. 'Course, we did have quite a few beers, come to think of it."

"Oh! Kiss the Girls?" he began to recall, as he watched the screen.

"You got it," Tony smiled. "C'mon, Timmy. You can sit up here with me. I'd pat the bed, but yano..." Tony's playful grin didn't fool McGee.

Tim didn't allow himself to hesitate in accepting the invitation. Nor did he let it show too much that he was being cautious of Tony's injuries, as he got comfortable sitting back against the headboard. "How long has it been on?"

"Not too long," he replied. "Did you eat dinner? Abby ordered a pizza earlier. Plenty left in the fridge, if you want some."

"Thanks, Tony. Maybe later. I could use a drink, though."

"Boss's got beer," he glanced up at him.

"Oh," Tim narrowed his eyes, in thought. I'm definitely not on duty... "You uh...you want me to grab you one, too?" he asked as he slipped out of the bed, grimacing as his body was turned from his partner. What was he thinking, asking him that? He couldn't have beer, could he?

"Actually...that sounds really good," Tony replied. "I'm not on heavy pain killers right now, so it'd be okay to have one. As long as you don't mind stickin' a straw in mine...and you'll have to hold it for me..."

"Absolutely not," Tim replied, turning around; face set in a serious tone. "There's absolutely no way I'm holding your beer for you, DiNozzo... That's asking way too much." Tim prayed to whatever god might be listening, that his joke didn't just completely backfire. The way Tony was looking at him right now, left his chest burning with fear that he'd just hurt him, terribly.

But then, Tony's face broke out in a genuine smile; big and bright, before he let out a laugh.

Only then, did Tim's gut unclench and leave him with a feeling of utter relief, and he returned the smile. He heard Tony's stomach make a grumbling sound. "You want me to grab you some leftover pizza, while I'm up?"

"What?" Tony seemed slightly panicked for a moment, before slipping on the mask.

"Your stomach sounds hungry."

"I...It's just digesting, Probie. I just ate a bit ago. I'm fine. Just a beer, thanks."

"Okay," Tim thought nothing of it as he turned to leave the room. Once he opened the fridge, he fished out two beers and set them on the counter. He crouched down in front of the fridge to check out what kind of pizza they'd ordered. Opening the box, the pie was practically untouched. Two pieces missing from the sausage, pepperoni and extra cheese concoction. There didn't seem to be a second empty box, and normally it'd seem pretty strange that so little was eaten. But he figured this was part of the healing process, perhaps.

He shut the fridge and picked up the beers, making sure to grab a straw before heading back to the room. He casually sat back down on the bed beside Tony, as he opened both bottles, stuck a straw in one, and held it to Tony's mouth. Tony took a long sip and made an appreciative noise as he released the straw.

"Ah, thanks, McGee."

"No problem," he replied, taking a sip of his own, before setting both down on the table beside the bed. He leaned back on the headboard, and they both became entranced by the movie playing on the screen.


	21. Chapter 21

McGee had been caught up in the movie for a while now, but glanced over at Tony, once he'd become a bit quiet. The commentary from the older agent had ceased a few minutes before, and at first, Tim was glad. But now it was just weird.

Tony seemed to be uncomfortable. He was squirming a bit where he sat. Tim looked over at their nearly empty beer bottles, and suddenly figured out what the problem might be. But bringing it up was something he'd have to do subtly; Gibbs' earlier words did not go forgotten. Thinking quickly, he stood from the bed and picked up the two bottles.

"I'm gonna grab another beer. Want anything?" he asked.

Tony groaned, "No...nothing."

"You okay?" he furrowed a brow.

"Yeah, I... Just...nothing more to drink. I've gotta piss like a race horse, as it is."

"Well, why not go to the bathroom?"

Tony fixed him with a halfhearted glare, "I'm just gonna wait for Gibbs to get back."

"Why? I mean...can't I help?"

"You really wanna hold me up while I pee, Probie?"

"Want is kind of a strong word, I'd say," he replied, arching a brow. "I would, however, be happy to help you to prevent getting a bladder infection. How long have you been holding it?" Tony mumbled something under his breath as he looked away. "What was that? I didn't hear you..."

"Since sometime after noon, okay?"

"Why would you do that?" he asked, exasperatedly, setting the bottles back on the table.

"Well what was I supposed to do, huh?" he looked up at him, a bit angrily. "Have Abby in there while I drain the lizard?"

"I...Well, I guess I get why you'd hold it while Abby was your only option," he conceded. "But I've been here for over an hour. You could've said something once I got here."

"How is this different?" he asked, incredulously.

"Because I'm a guy...and we've peed in stalls side by side in the past. It's no different than that. Unless...um...and I'm not saying I won't...do this, either but..."

"No," he interrupted. "I don't need you to hold anything... I just need someone to stand behind me and hold me steady. I've worked out a way to do the rest...on my own."

"Well okay then! See? What's the problem?"

"It's just...weird. Come on, McGee... Standing in the same room is different than...being held onto whilst taking a leak..."

"So what, if it's weird? I'd rather spend a couple of minutes feeling a bit awkward, than to have you go through a back-step in your recovery."

Tony shut his mouth, eyes darting about somewhere in front of him. Tim was right. He'd been stupid to allow his embarrassment to keep him from this. It could make him sick; he just hadn't really thought of it that way. The first and foremost thing on his mind had been the black and white facts.

"Okay," Tony said, softly.

"Okay?" McGee questioned, raising a brow.

"I mean, you're right," he said, glancing to the younger agent. "I'm being stupid."

"You're not being stupid, Tony," he took a step closer to the bed. "I get what's going through your head. Hell, if it was me, I don't think I could've even gotten this far." Tony looked at him, fully, then. "But you're stronger than me. And I'm a hell of a lot easier to embarrass. I'd...I dunno...I don't think I'd be able to-" he shook his head and looked down at his feet, shifting uneasily where he stood. "All I'm saying is, I understand. But as your friend, I can stand here and absolutely tell you not to be embarrassed to ask me to help you with something like this. Even if...yano...you needed help with...yano...that other part that you've got figured out." He looked up to meet Tony's eyes again, realizing they were a bit shiny, and Tony was doing this blinking thing he did to fend off tears before they could fall.

McGee wasn't really sure what to do, now. He stood there, though, hoping that the answer would come to him. He replayed what he'd just told Tony, in his head. As he got to the end, he noticed Tony start to smile; that cocky smile he'd smile after successfully getting under McGee's skin. And that's when Tim realized that Tony purposefully took the last line out of context.

"And...I've just gone and embarrassed myself," Tim said. Tony stifled a laugh at the beet-red color that completely flushed his friend's face.

"This is uh...actually not bad timing, McGoo," Tony told him. "We're kinda even, at the moment, and I really need to pee."

Tim inwardly relaxed, relieved that whatever series of events just played out, it got them to here. "Let's go, then," he was sure to let his own embarrassment still show through, for his partner's sake.

The adventure to and from the bathroom lasted less than five minutes. Tony had talked through the entire process, attempting to distract both of them from the fact of what was going on. McGee had only rolled his eyes once, and it was to Tony's, "Look, ma! No hands! Actually, wait...no, don't look...heh. I've kinda been practicing for this, on and off, my whole life. I've got pretty good aim."

And yes, Tim had rolled his eyes. But in reality, he was laughing on the inside.

Now that Tony was settled back in the bed, Tim sat down where he'd been when they'd been watching the movie, and prepared to address a new concern that had been on his mind for over an hour now. He hadn't planned to say anything, but he felt now that he was more certain that his concerns were true.

"You're not eating, are you," it wasn't really a question. Tim watched as his gaze fell from the TV.

"What are you talkin' about, Probie? I told you Abby got us pizza..."

"But you didn't eat it, did you?" he sat up a bit. "What'd you tell Abby? That you weren't feeling well? You'd eat some later? How long has it been since you ate, Tony?" Tony simply shook his head, refusing to meet the younger agent's eyes. "You were lightheaded in the bathroom, and on the way in there. Has it been a whole day? How long, Tony?" he asked with a bit more heat than he'd meant to.

"Don't get mad at me," Tony turned to meet his eyes. "You said you understood; that you got how this could feel." The hurt in his voice made Tim's slight anger to recede a bit.

"Just tell me how long... You're not gonna get better, if you keep doing this."

"I can't do it, Tim. I can't eat when I know what I'll end up needing help with, in the end. I can't ask that of my friends; I won't. I don't give a shit how much you all are willing to help me, I'm not gonna let that be part of it."

"What're you gonna do? Not eat until your arms heal? You gonna starve yourself for months? You're gonna put yourself right back in the hospital!"

"So let them put me back there," he said. "At least I wouldn't be you all over for the next God knows how much longer!" McGee wasn't sure, in that moment, how to respond. "Look," he said, less heatedly, "I know you're right; I know this isn't the best way to handle things. But I don't know how else to do it. I can't. You might think I'm strong, but I'm not...not as much as I need to be. I gotta draw the line somewhere, and this is where I'm drawing it."

"I found you a nurse," McGee blurted out.

Tony looked at him with a furrowed brow, "What?"

"I've been looking. I knew there'd be some days where we might not be able to be here with you. So I was looking for a fill-in. I found the perfect one, but she was only willing to come on full-time. If you're willing to put yourself back in the hospital, you should be willing to accept a nurse's help, here."

"I can't afford that."

"The agency's covering it."

"How? This wasn't work-related."

"Yeah, it was," Tim met his eyes. "Jeanne Benoit was on the NCIS risk list. Your contact with her was through NCIS orders, and her showing back up was in complete regards to your assignment through the director."

Tony's eyes darted back and forth between McGee's. His lips curved into a smile, "You sneaky sonofabitch."

"I'm sure Vance we be happy to have a full staff again, too..."

"You'll...I mean, everyone will still come visit, right? I mean...I dunno if I'll even like this nurse..."

"'Course we'll visit," he replied, incredulously. "And you don't have to like the nurse. You just need her to...yano..."

"Yeah," he shook his head and leaned back on the headboard.

"I can have her start, day after tomorrow, if she isn't available to start in the morning."

Tony was silent for a moment. "You won't tell Gibbs, will you?"

"Well, I have to tell him. He'll need to be prepared for someone being here, and-"

"That's not what I meant," he met his eyes again. Tim realized, then, what he was talking about. "Please don't tell him, Probie..."

"You need to eat, then."

"I will, once the nurse is here."

"Tony-"

"No, Tim...Please. I'll be fine. Rockstars do this all the time, and I'm not even on heroin!"

"Tony..." he sighed.

"I've been drinking vitamin-ish stuff, this whole time. I'm not gonna keel over from a few days without food. I swear, if I start to feel sick, I will eat something...Please, Tim...don't tell him. He's just gonna get upset and not trust me..."

McGee was quiet for a long time as he contemplated Tony's request. Then he came to a conclusion. "I swear, if you make me regret this, I'll never let it go, Tony. Not till the day I die."

Tony smiled, and sagged with relief, "If I had use of my arms, I'd hug you. Thank you..." he said, on a more serious note. "I owe you...big time."


	22. Chapter 22

McGee heard the car pull up out front, and carefully got out of the bed. Tony had fallen asleep not five minutes earlier, and he thought it'd be best to let him stay asleep for now, and take advantage of the moment to talk to their boss.

He was in the living room when the front door opened. "Boss," he said in almost a whisper, to get his attention, and also to indicate the other agent was asleep. Gibbs took the hint and closed the door, quietly.

"Everything okay, McGee?" he asked in just as quiet of a voice as he walked up to him.

"Yeah, Boss. Everything's fine. I just wanted to talk to you about something."

"Okay," he replied, heading toward the kitchen, putting a brown paper bag into the fridge. "Let me grab a beer, and we'll talk."

Tim followed him to the kitchen and took a seat at the table. Once the older man was seated across from him, he started. "That nurse I told you about, earlier? Tony wants her to come." Gibbs arched a surprised brow, indicating he wanted an elaboration. "I'm not trying to rat him out, Boss, but he's embarrassed about needing help in the bathroom. He'd been holding it a better part of the day, because he didn't wanna ask Abby or myself. He was uncomfortable, like you said. But I couldn't sit there and watch him squirm just because he felt like he needed to be embarrassed in front of me, of all people." Gibbs smirked at that. "So I talked to him. He let me help, but that's not gonna be enough for every day. And you know Vance is getting antsy about someone being out to stay with him. I really think it'd be best to have a full-time nurse on..."

"Don't need full-time, McGee. He's got us."

"He agreed to it," Tim retorted. "He thinks it's a good idea, and I know he'll feel less misplaced guilt about keeping us from work. He still wants us to visit, but I really do believe that this is the only way he'll allow himself to...get better, without...hindering himself." His eyes darted around, in effort to try and not reveal the secret he'd promised he wouldn't reveal.

"You figured out he's not eating," Gibbs told him quietly.

McGee shot him a wide-eyed look of surprise, "You knew?"

Gibbs nodded, took a sip of his beer, and met his eyes again, "Talked to Duck about it, today. Thought maybe he just wasn't feeling well enough to eat. Duck thought we might need to get him an IV."

"He's just embarrassed, Boss," he gave him pleading eyes. "He knows what he's doing; knows he shouldn't be doing it. But this is why he's agreed to have a nurse. He'll eat, Boss. You've just gotta let him hold onto his dignity on this one. Don't even let him know you know...as a favor to me, if nothing else. I promised I'd say nothing, as long as he'd eat once the nurse was here. I'm gonna see if she'll start in the morning. I'll call her tonight."

Gibbs looked with pride at his agent, "I take it this nurse passed the background checks?"

"Never been associated with Jeanne or Grace, or anyone they knew, really. Never so much as resided in the same zipcode as either of them, in her entire life. She just transferred to Georgetown a couple of years ago, and decided to go more into the private nursing field about a year later. Oh...and she's also very highly qualified and recommended by previous employers."

Gibbs arched a brow, "She sounds expensive."

"Tony's insurance covers it, and I spoke with HR, and they've approved coverage of copays."

"You already checked out a full-time private nurse?"

"I checked out every possibility with every person I was running a check on, Boss. I didn't want to leave any stone unturned."

"Pretty damn thorough."

"Learned that from my boss," he smirked.

Gibbs returned the grin, "That's good work, Tim."

"Thanks, Boss," he looked down a bit.

"What time would she be here, and for how long?"

"She'd get here at 0600 and stay until 2100, if she was needed. And she'd be available on-call."

"That's a long work-day."

"She's used to it," he told him. "And she'd like to be able to do this kind of work full-time, instead of being on-call with the hospital. She said it'd be like a vacation to her, being able to focus on just one patient. She's been working with the elderly, but she really wants to work with someone who isn't in their last days, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah," Gibbs nodded. "I get that. Sounds like you had a long talk with her."

"I met her for lunch, actually." Gibbs raised a curious brow. "She's real nice; feisty and energetic, which I really think Tony needs. She's a lot older; not old, but well into her sixties. I figured it'd be a good idea not to hire nurse-Barbie, in this case." Gibbs stifled a laugh. "Plus, she's a movie-buff. It's a pretty perfect fit. I'm just hoping this isn't one of those situations where being too much alike, causes them to get on each others nerves. But it really shouldn't matter. It's what Tony needs..."

Gibbs cocked his head a bit, "You're thinkin' into this an awful lot. Probably an acceptable instance to. But I think you did good. Go make the call, McGee. Let me know if she'll be here tomorrow, so I can cancel Ziva's watch."

"On it, Boss," he said, standing from the table. "Have a good night, Boss."

"You too, Tim. Thanks, again."

"No problem," he gave a small smile before turning to leave.

Gibbs stood and made his way to Tony's room, once he heard the front door close. He looked as though he'd fallen asleep mid-movie; sitting up against the headboard, surrounded by supportive pillows. The television screen proved his theory. He shut it off and made his way to the kitchen, pulling out one of the nutrition shakes he'd purchased on the way home, out of the paper bag, shook it up, and grabbed a straw as he made his way back into the room.

As he expected, Tony had begun to stir, once the TV had been shut off. "Boss?"

"Hey, Tony," he replied, coming the rest of the way into the room. "I know you've not felt up to eating much, so I picked up this nutrition drinks for you. Duck says they're good. Thought you might try it."

"Okay..." he shifted to push himself a bit more upright, using his elbows. "McGee leave?"

"Just a minute ago, once I got here."

"You two talk at all?" he asked, trying to hide his suspicion.

"About a nurse," he replied. "He's gonna see if she can come tomorrow. That what you want?" he asked as he took a seat beside him on the bed.

"I think it'd be helpful for everyone, yeah," he answered, then took the proffered straw between his lips, taking a test-taste of the drink. "Not too bad, Boss. Think I can stomach this." He was actually quite grateful for the drink. When you've not eaten for a few days, anything close to food seemed pretty fantastic. He wanted to gulp it down, but Gibbs paced him, making small talk in between sips. He was inwardly grateful the agent was accepting this. He could never forgive himself if Tony got sick because he wanted to let it slide, that he hadn't been eating...


	23. Chapter 23

"Got a big day ahead of you," Gibbs told his senior field agent as he held a morning nutrition shake to Tony's lips, for him to take a sip. "Your nurse will be here soon. That psych lady is coming by around lunch time."

"Brianna?" Tony asked, after swallowing down a large gulp of the shake. "Has it already been another week?"

"Second visit in the hospital wasn't so bad, was it?" Gibbs arched a brow.

"I guess not..."

"You want me to come back, if we don't get a case?"

"No, that's okay," Tony insisted, halfheartedly. "Think I can handle it."

"I know you can. Not what I asked."

Tony considered him for a moment. "I guess...if you're not busy, and it's not too much trouble," he conceded. "I've really been craving a pastrami on rye, if you can pick me one up from that deli on the corner of Eighth and Main-"

"I know the place," Gibbs interjected. "Glad to see you gettin' your appetite back," he smirked.

Tony's face suddenly flashed with a bit of guilt. "About that..." he began. "It's not that I...didn't have an appetite..."

"I know," Gibbs assured him. "Couldn't handle it. I get it. It's okay, Tony. Just wish you would've told me what was up. Ya could've made yourself sick."

Tony's eyes widened, then lowered in embarrassment and sadness that his boss had already figured out that he'd been lying. "You knew..."

"Kinda hard to miss, when there's only one way you could eat in the first place," he gave a small smile. "That, and I know your stomach's hungry-noises."

Tony shot him a look of disbelief and intrigue, "There's no way you could discern stomach sounds, Boss!"

"Work with a guy for ten years, sit in the same car on stake-outs, you get to know the difference between a rumble and a growl that can't be ignored."

Tony's eyes darted back and forth between Gibbs'. "Yet you didn't say anything, til now. Why?"

"Was waitin' for you to tell me on your own. Was hopin' it'd be before I had to force it outta ya."

A few heartbeats and a deep breath later, he looked at him with saddened eyes, "I'm sorry I lied to you..." It came out almost in a whisper, and Gibbs saw that it was genuine. Not that he wouldn't have believed him, otherwise.

Gibbs placed a hand on the top of Tony's head, lightly ruffling the hair there, grateful that the small patches that used to be angry welts, had vanished, and begun to regrow hair. "Just don't let it happen again."

Tony relaxed under the affection, and took another long sip from the shake, as Gibbs held it to his mouth for him.

11 00 11 00 11

Margaret Jackson was running late. Late, by her own standards, anyway. She liked to be a little early, at least on the first day.

She was excited to meet Anthony DiNozzo Jr. His story had touched her, and she was really eager to help him, however she could. But she knew her limitations; McGee had explained the situation in depth, during their long conversation the previous night. So yes, she was very excited. But she was also very nervous. However, Margaret Jackson wasn't one to let nerves get the best of her.

She'd learned, at a young age, that nerves could make a mess of things, if you allowed them to change your reactions. It wasn't something she liked to think back about, but it definitely made certain to craft the way she handled herself.

The RN pulled her car up in front of the home of Leroy Jethro Gibbs, glancing at the paper in her hand to double check she'd gotten the correct address. She grabbed her medical bag, which wasn't too large, considering most of the equipment she'd need was already there, and made her way to the front door. She raised her hand to knock, only to find the door pulled away as it opened, before she had the chance to.

Before her, stood a salt-and-pepper haired man, standing a foot taller than her. She looked him up and down, as he did her, then met his icy blue eyes. "You must be Agent Gibbs."

He cocked his head, slightly, and raised a brow, "And you must be Margaret Jackson."

"Please, just Mags," she switched her bag to her left hand, and held her right out to the agent. "It's nice to meet you."

Gibbs shook her hand and moved to let her into the house. "How long have you been a nurse, Mags?" he asked, as he closed the door.

"I'd have thought Tim had filled you in on that," she turned to him. "Over twenty years," she answered anyway. "I've been back to school a few times; the latest for occupational/physical therapy. Worked in critical care for a while, after several long years of bein' a surgical nurse."

"What made you decide to go into private nursing?" he inquired. "Case-load get to be too much, in the hospital?"

She smirked at that, "Not at all. I might be a lot older than when I first started out. But believe you me, the workload was a hell of a lot tougher back then, when I was a nervous, bumbling newcomer. Tippin' over trays an' bumpin' into attendings, afraid of messin' somethin' up, an' just makin' it worse for myself."

Gibbs smiled a bit at that, looking away for a moment before replying, "I know someone who used to be a bit like that."

"So, Agent Gibbs, is this my third interview? Or do I get to meet my new patient?"

He shook his head, "Just Gibbs. And he's right this way," he told her as he started down the hall. "He's already had his pain meds this morning. Had a nutrition shake not long ago, but I'm betting he'll want a little something more soon. I'll be bringin' him something back for lunch. His psychologist will be here around noon. Brianna Taylor is her name. Don't let anyone else in, besides her or myself, or Tim. You'll meet the others, I'm sure; rest of our team. They can come in, too, but no one else is scheduled to come by."

"Expectin' someone bad to show up?" she quirked a brow.

"Can't be too careful," he told her, before opening the door to Tony's room. "Tony, this is your nurse, Margaret Jackson," he informed him.

"Mags," she corrected, before heading into the room. "It's nice to meet you, Anthony," she smiled.

"Just Tony," he told her. "No one calls me Anthony, but Ducky. And that's only because I can't talk him out of it."

"Ducky?" she arched a brow.

"One of the team you'll meet later," Gibbs interjected.

"Right," she nodded. "Guess I'll ask later. Now, on to the important stuff," she plopped her bag down on the side table. "You like The Godfather?" she asked Tony.

Tony raised his brows, "The movie?"

"Yeah, the movie..."

"You like The Godfather?" he asked.

"What? I can't like The Godfather because I'm black?" she questioned, incredulously.

Tony's eyes widened, "Uh...n-no that's not what I-" he was cut off when Mags started to laugh. Tony's features relaxed, and a slight smile spread across his face as he glanced to Gibbs, "I think I like this one, Boss."

Gibbs smirked, then looked to Mags, "Before I go, let me show you around. I'll see you later, Tony," he told him as they left the room. "Kitchen's that way," he pointed. "Help yourself to whatever, though there's not much, at the moment. There's a land-line phone in the living room; list of contact numbers if you need to reach me or anyone else on the team, if I'm not available. Extra toiletries are in the upstairs bathroom. Tony's cell is next to the bed," he said, turning to face her as he came to the front door. "I'll be calling to check in, whenever I've got a moment. If you don't answer, there'll be a squad car here so fast, it'll make your head spin," he glared.

Mags stuck her chin up a bit, though there was no bite in her eyes. "You care a lot for Tony," she observed. "I know you'll worry about him, and in light of what happened, I know you've got reasons to be wary about people, Gibbs. But I give you my word that I'll do everything in my power to make sure he's okay while you're not here. Now, if you can do me a favor and give me a five-minute leeway on the phone thing, in case we're in the bathroom or somethin', I'd appreciate it. If not, well, I won't be offended if you need to send someone by to reassure yourself."

Gibbs studied her for a moment longer, before giving her nod of acknowledgment, and he turned to leave, locking the door behind him. Mags gave a light smile to no one in particular but herself. It was rare to come across people who really wanted a caregiver, and not just a sitter. She could tell how much Gibbs and McGee cared about their teammate.

She turned and headed back into Tony's room, going straight for her bag. "Now, I'm gonna put this movie on in a minute. But I need to check your vitals and enter it in my records. Gotta show I'm doin' somethin' besides sittin' here watchin' movies with ya," she gave him a wink.

Tony gave her a lazy smile, "I gotta warn you, Mags; I'm a bit loopy right now, and I may fall asleep during the first half hour. But you can keep it playing. That way, I'll have some sweet mafia-esque dreams."

"Oh I did that once," she told him, enthusiastically, as she wrapped a blood-pressure cuff around his bicep. "But wouldn't ya know, I ended up bein' the vendor standin' at the damn fruit stand while The Godfather got gunned down. Kinda disappointing, if you ask me."

"Would you rather have been The Godfather?"

"I think I'd rather have been shootin'," she replied. "It's a dream, right? No harm in it. Plus, I've never handled a gun before, in my life. Seems like it woulda been a little fun. Might not have shot anyone; might've shot the hell outta some of them oranges though," she gave a small laugh. "I'd be a terrible shot."

Tony gave her a goofy grin, "Can't start with oranges, Mags. Gotta start with a bigger target; work your way down."

"Maybe you can teach me, some day," she glanced to his face for a moment, before returning her attention to the cuff.

The grin faltered from Tony's face. "Not so sure I'll be able to handle a gun anymore."

"Sure ya will," she told him, confidently.

"I don't think you understand..."

"Oh I've seen your file, Tony. Don't go around thinkin' you're doomed. Might not seem like it right now, but you'll get there. I'll make sure of it."

"You will, will you?" he raised a brow.

"You let me be the one to do your PT, and as soon as you're able, you can repay me by teachin' me how to use a gun. Deal?" she looked at him again. His eyes darted around in the air between them. "I'd make ya shake on it...but that can wait, too."

He looked at her again, as she took the cuff from his arm and jotted something down in her book. "You in the habit of handing out hope that might not even be there?" he asked, in a small voice.

"Oh no, child. The only time there's no hope, is when you stop hopin'," she told him, then continued with her work.

"Child?" he laughed. "You can't be much older than me..."

"Ooooh, honey, I knew I liked you for a reason," she laughed...


	24. Chapter 24

"Wow, Tony!" Brianna Taylor exclaimed as she sat down in the chair beside his bed. "You look...amazing..."

"That's what the lady's tell me," he grinned, goofily. "But thanks, Brie...I appreciate you saying so."

"I'm serious, Tony," she chided, knowing he assumed that she was just trying to be kind. "You look great. Your color is good, and you seem a lot happier than I last saw you."

"Happier?" he questioned. Then his eyes darted around as he thought about that statement. "Yeah...I...guess I'm feeling a lot better than I did in the hospital. Then again," he met her eyes, a smirk pasting his lips, "No one's ever really seen me happy in a hospital before."

"Well, I take it it's been going well here at Gibbs' house?"

"Yeah...It's been good. McGee found me a nurse."

"I met her. She seems nice. Do you like her?"

"She's great," he told her. "And I'm glad to not be taking up everyone's time from work. It's better this way."

"You do realize that they were fine with being here for you?" she cocked her head. "They wanted to help."

"I know... And they did help; maybe more than I can even express thanks for. But I didn't feel right keeping one of them outta the office every day. And..." his sentence tapered off, his eyes shifted downcast.

"And what?"

It took him a moment to allow himself to continue, realizing that this was a therapist, and he didn't have to worry about his friends knowing what was on his mind. "And I don't want them to keep seeing how helpless I am..."

"You're not helpless, Anthony DiNozzo," her brows rose.

He met her eyes, "Oh really? Have you seen me lately?" he rose his arms up. "Do you know what it's like to live without use of your hands? What it's like to not be able to stand on your own, because you can't bear weight on one of your legs? I have to be held up in the bathroom, to take a piss! I wear sweatpants so I can at least shimmy them down a bit with the corners of these things on my arms, and use the hem to aim myself...and thank GOD I never miss and have to make someone clean that up... Oh...and how could I forget? I have to be spoon-fed. How, exactly, does any of that make me not helpless?" he asked, unsure of when his explanation became so filled with frustration and anger.

She looked at him, calmly, for a few long moments, waiting for him to calm down. "Are you finished?" she asked. He shifted and looked away, stubbornly. She leaned forward, "Has anyone made any decisions for you, since you were brought to the hospital, Tony?" Slowly, Tony turned back to meet her eyes. "Who made the decision to get the reconstructive surgery?" she asked. "Did someone decide for you, to come stay here, instead of at your apartment, to recover?" Tony's eyes shifted. "Were you forced to accept the help of a nurse, because you weren't capable of making that choice with a sound mind? Or did you make the final decision to take the offer?"

"What's your point?"

"My point is, you're not helpless, Tony," she told him. "You need some assistance, and that's just the way it is for the time being. But there's nothing wrong with your brain. You're not incapable of deciding what you want and don't want in all of this. And you certainly aren't dependent on anyone but yourself, in how quick or slow you recover."

"You said, yourself, that I was lucky to have friends like I do," he retorted. "That I might not be where I am without them..."

"Ah...I see," she leaned back in her chair, without looking away from them. "You think this is all them, the reason you've come as far as you have, right now."

"Well, it is."

"And you seem to think I've got no comparable case in which I could possibly tell you otherwise." She waited a moment, giving him ample time to respond. But he didn't. "I've seen people broken beyond repair; people with strongly-knit family and friends like yours. Some of those people...not even coming close to the horrors that you went through; some, worse off. The difference? They chose not to accept or listen to the people around them that were so desperate to help; the people who knew them best, that would give anything to get back even a fraction of the person they'd been before.

"Haven't you ever come across someone so bitter and resentful, without an obvious indication as to why? Or perhaps a person who allowed desperation and hatred to take over their very being, turning them into something...dark? I'm sure you have, being in the line of work you're in, Tony. I'm sure there are a select few that are born with bad blood. But a majority of the time, something happened to make a person that way.

"Two men, soldiers, squatting together in a foxhole, as they reload their weapons... Without warning, a grenade is thrown right between them, and they only have enough time to jump a few feet in either direction, before it goes off. Both men survive. Both men have a leg amputated. They're from the same squadron, and their friends surround them both with love and support; help wherever they need it. But only one really truly accepts it. The other...well, he's angry. He knows he'll never be the same, and there's nothing he can do about it; nothing will change it.

"Years later, they happen to meet up in a VFW, at the bar. One of them is sitting in his wheelchair at the far end, sipping slowly from a straw in a glass of whiskey. The other, wheeling his chair alongside his wife, notices his old friend, and goes up to him. He asks how he's doing, and the soldier looks at him with disdain. 'How can this guy be so happy?' he thinks. 'I'm homeless, with no one...and he's looking sharp, with a beautiful woman on his arm.' All of his friends had given up on him...with just cause, since he'd pushed them away for years. He showed up in the bar because his only true friend, the bartender, knew he was a Purple Heart, and deserved a drink or two thrown his way from time to time..."

"Why are you telling me this?" Tony asked, growing a bit impatient.

"Isn't it obvious?" she asked. "It wasn't about the people around them, or how much they cared or loved them or wanted them to get better. They both had the same options. But they both made a different decision. It was the soldier who decided not to be helpless, that ended up being happy, in the end."

Tony's eyes darted back and forth between Brianna's for a moment, before darting somewhere in the air around her. In that moment, everything seemed to make sense; everything she'd been trying to tell him. Not that it made a difference whether or not he understood that what he was doing, was the right decision; it would've had the same outcome. But now, he realized that he was a huge part of his own recovery...and maybe he wasn't so damned useless after all.

He met her eyes again, a small smile gracing his features. "There's this guy you have to meet," he told her. "He works with us at NCIS. He wears a bow tie, and you might be a bit young for him...but I really think you'd hit it off."

"Oh really?" she laughed. "And why's that?"

"Stories," he replied. "Ones you don't realize are relevant until you get to the ending..."


	25. Chapter 25

Gibbs entered the house around 1400 hours. It was quiet, and Mags met him in the hall, holding a finger to her mouth to indicate his continued silence. "He's asleep," she told him. "We expected you a couple of hours ago; or at least a call."

"Yeah, I know," he replied as quietly. "Got stuck in a stand-off. Long story."

"Oh hell no, you can't leave it at that," she raised her brows, and gripped his arm, dragging him to the kitchen. "Gimme that sandwich. I'll put it in the fridge, and you go sit, 'cause I wanna hear this story."

"I just got finished with a report, rehashing the story, and you want me to tell it again?" he raised a brow.

"I just had to watch football through a fuzzy station on a TV older than my high school diploma, and I don't even like football, but what else was I supposed to do while lil' Miss Head-shrink put my Tony to sleep. I've been sittin' here buffin' your kitchen table for an hour, out of pure boredom. So yeah, you can rehash it one more time for an old girl. Now go sit down. I'll grab you a beer, and you can put your feet up an' tell me a story, ya hear?"

Gibbs couldn't help but to allow himself a lopsided grin as he resignedly turned around and took a seat at the table. Though he didn't look forward to telling the story of the past several hours of his day, at least it'd be something to pass the time until Tony woke up from his nap.

"Alright," Mags set the bottle of beer down in front of Gibbs, and sat down across from him at the table, "Tell Mags all about your day. You get a big case?"

"Got a case," he replied, twisting the top off the beer. "Didn't end up with us having it very long."

"What happened?"

"Case was a missing person. I sent Ziva and McGee to get a surveillance tape from the bank he'd made a withdrawal from, day he disappeared..."

4 hours earlier...

Tim and Ziva made their way from the car toward the bank. As McGee reached the door, he realized that Ziva was no longer beside him. He stopped and turned around. Ziva had paused about halfway, and was scanning around them, out in the distance.

"Ziva? Something wrong?" he asked, with furrowed brows.

Her eyes narrowed as she continued, "Probably not," she decided, then turned to catch up with McGee. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching them.

He held the door open for her, then followed in behind her. Ziva reached the manager's office first. The door was open, and she simply knocked on the open door to get his attention, as she pulled out her badge to identify herself.

"Ah, you must be with NCIS," the man guessed. "Come on in. I've got the footage uploaded for you."

"I'll be taking that," a voice came from behind her. Ziva spun around to see the McGee had a gun barrel pressed against his temple, by a man wearing a ski-mask. "Don't even think about reaching for that weapon," he told her. That's when she heard a click beside her own head, and saw another masked man beside her. Where they'd come from, the agents weren't certain. But as she met McGee's eyes, she saw the fear in them, that she, herself, couldn't manage to express.

Present...

"Oh my!" Mags looked at Gibbs, wide-eyed. "They were in the wrong place at the wrong time, weren't they?"

"They'd been waiting on my agents," Gibbs explained. "They wanted the footage. Wasn't a robbery."

"Tell me your agents are okay..."

"They made the manager take my agents' weapons; put 'em in a duffel, before taking the uploaded footage and smashing the computer in the office. But as they went to leave, two police cars pulled up in the parking lot..."

3 hours, 45 minutes ago...

"Who called them?" the man shouted at the tellers and customers that had been forced to the ground by the other two goons in masks. "Who?"

"They pulled up without lights, man," one of the masked men came up to him. "They just showed up at the wrong fucking time. Fuck! Now what?"

"He's gonna fuckin' kill us, that's what," he replied. "Either he will, or they will. Unless we get the hell outta here."

"Maybe we should just give ourselves up? We didn't rob anyone..."

"Are you stupid? I ain't goin' anywhere with them! They take us in, make us talk or not, Tommy's gonna have us knocked off!'

"No he won't...He wouldn't do that, would he?"

"You don't know Tommy..." he replied, shaking his head. He turned, looking at one of the tellers. "You!" he shouted, pointing his gun at her. "Get up." The woman whimpered, hesitating at first, but then slowly moved up off of the floor. "Go lock the doors." She met his eyes, frightened. "Go lock the fuckin' doors, now!" he shouted. Her eyes moved downcast, and she moved toward the doors, hands shaking as she followed his order. "And close the shades. All of them."

The woman, Rebecca, moved to each window, closing the shades as she went. She looked out at the officers, who had been, up to this point, simply talking to each other, unaware of what was going on in the bank, right as one looked up and met her tear-stained face. She was slightly relieved to see realization wash the officer's face, before the shades separated them...

NCIS; 3 hours, 30 minutes ago...

Gibbs descended the staircase leading down from MTAC, toward the bullpen. Before he could reach his desk, however, Abby came bounding in to meet him. "Gibbs! You have to see something!"

"Can't right now, Abs. Not unless you found something about the missing lieutenant-"

"This is important!" she grabbed the remote from McGee's desk, and turned on the flat screen, changing it to show the ZNN news. The bottom of the screen blinked in red, 'LIVE Breaking News', and the video shot was coming from a helicopter. The scene showed a building surrounded by squad cars and armed officers, and ambulances parked in the distance with their lights on...

*...bank was taken by surprise, when four suspects, armed with semi-automatic weapons, locked themselves, eight employees, and at least six customers inside with them. Shots have been fired, but there's no word of any injuries. According to local PD, they've been inside for at least half an hour, and the vault has not been touched. This has the officers baffled as to what the motives of these suspects are, if they're, in fact, not there to rob the bank...*

"Isn't that the bank you sent McGee and Ziva to?" Abby looked worriedly at Gibbs.

"Yeah...half an hour ago," he turned, grabbed his badge and gun from his desk, and hurried toward the elevator. "Get Vance in the loop, Abby!" he shouted before disappearing into the shaft...

Inside the bank; 3 hours ago...

"What are you doing, you idiot?" one of the men scoffed as another took off his mask.

"It's hot. We're fucked either way. Might as well be a bit more comfortable."

"We're only fucked because we didn't leave while there were only two pigs out there! We could've easily shot our way to freedom."

"I didn't sign up for no killin'!" he shouted. "That's not what this was supposed to be!"

"Well I didn't sign up to be killed!" he retorted.

"This whole thing has nothin' to do with us! We're just coverin' Tommy's ass, and now we're fucked in our own!"

~.~

In the manager's office, Ziva struggled to free herself from where they'd tied her, McGee and the manager to chairs. McGee had been listening to the muffled conversation coming from right outside the door. He got an idea.

"Guys?" he called out.

"McGee!" Ziva whispered, harshly. "What are you doing?"

"Just...trust me, okay?"

She had no time to reply, as two of the men came into the room. "What the hell do you want, Fed?" he pointed the gun at him.

"I um...I just overheard you talking..."

"Who the hell said you could listen to us talkin', huh?"

"Just...hear me out...please?" McGee pleaded.

"What do you have to say, kid?" the man who had removed his mask, asked him.

"I...think we could help you. Just let me call my boss..." Tim said.

"Yeah right," the other man chuckled. "I'm not an idiot."

"Wait, man," the unmasked suspect interjected. "What the hell other option we got, huh?"

"How the fuck are the Feds gonna help us?"

"You're afraid," Tim said. "You think your boss is gonna kill you-"

"He ain't our boss!"

"Whoever you're doing this job for," McGee reworded, "I'm guessing he did something to the lieutenant on the footage he had you destroy."

"So what if he did?"

"It's why we were here," Tim replied. "We're looking for the lieutenant. If you turn yourselves in, and you tell us where to find him, we can protect you."

"That's bullshit," the masked man claimed.

"Why would you do that?" the unmasked suspect asked.

"Shut up, man," the masked man yelled, turning to his partner. "He's just trying to trick us into giving ourselves up! I'm not goin' back to prison! Not when he'll just have us killed, anyway!"

"It doesn't have to be that way," Tim told him.

The masked man, though his face couldn't be seen, turned to Tim, clearly angry. "Why don't you just shut your damn mouth, Fed!" he grunted, then his fist met the agent's temple.

"McGee..." Ziva winced, seeing the hit had knocked him out cold. She turned her face to the culprit, "When I am no longer restrained, I will have your head," she sneered through her teeth.

"You shut up, or you're next, bitch," he pointed at her, turned, and pushed past his partner.

The unmasked man looked at Ziva with regret for what his partner had done, before turning to leave as well. Ziva turned back to Tim, worry filling her eyes at his stillness. A trickled of blood made its way down the side of his face, where the skin had torn...


	26. Chapter 26

3 hours ago; outside the bank...

"Sir, we can't allow you in there," a police officer stopped Gibbs, in his attempt to approach the bank.

Gibbs pulled out his badge, "I've got two agents in there!"

"There's no telling if they're even alive, Agent...Gibbs," he read. "They've got semi-automatic weapons. We've got back-up on the way with some of our own. Until then-"

"Have you had any communication with the suspects?" he interrupted.

"They cut the phone lines at some point before we got here," he told him.

"My agents have cell phones on them. We can try and contact them, that way. Where's the officer in charge?" Gibbs began to get impatient.

"That'd be me," a voice came from the left of Gibbs, and he turned to see an older man in street clothes approach. "Who's this, Parker?" he asked his officer.

"This is Agent Gibbs, with NCIS, Sir. He says he's got two agents inside."

"What're your agents doing in that bank?" he asked, looking back to Gibbs.

"They were sent to collect information on a missing person's case. My guess is, since it seems the suspects aren't here to rob the bank, that they came to intercept the footage my agents were sent to retrieve. They knew they were comin', and they were waiting on them to get here. In which case, this is NCIS's show."

"With all due respect, Agent Gibbs," the officer in charge said, "We don't know that that's the case."

"What, exactly, are your plans at this point," Gibbs glared.

"For all we know, they could've killed everyone in there. There's been no sign that they want to communicate with us; no demands. I think they're simply stalling until they can figure out how to get out of there, even if it means shooting their way out. So we're waiting on fire-power."

"You're gonna raid the building," Gibbs surmised. "You don't know if there are innocent people still alive in there. You could end up killing them!"

"So what do you suggest we do?" the officer got in his face.

"I call my agent's phone, and hope they answer," he told him. "And when they do, I get them to let me in there."

"And then what?" he exclaimed.

"When I'm in, I'll figure that out..."

Inside the bank...

"What's that ringing coming from?" one of the suspects yelled from across the room. The unmasked suspect searched through the duffel bag containing the items they'd confiscated from the agents, and found the phone.

"One of the agent's phones," he called back. "Caller ID says 'Gibbs'."

The masked suspect walked into the manager's office. "Who the fuck is Gibbs?" he asked Ziva.

"He is our boss," she told him, simply. "Perhaps it would be a good idea to speak with someone outside of here; figure out a way to leave this place," she suggested.

Another of the suspects appeared with the two, "Seriously, man. Whatever we're gonna do, we can't stay here forever. Just answer the damn phone."

The unmasked man looked at, whom Ziva concluded, was their leader. The leader seemed annoyed, but eventually gave in. "Fine. Answer it. But you can deal with them."

The unmasked man looked relieved, and answered the call. "Hello?" Ziva watched as the man listened to the voice on the other end. "My name isn't important. What do you want?" he asked. His eyes flitted to meet Ziva's. "They're alive," he told him. "Everyone is alive." Ziva knew what would come next. Gibbs would want proof of what he'd been told. "You can talk to the girl. You've got thirty seconds," he said into the phone, then walked up to Ziva and held it to her ear.

"Gibbs," she said into the phone.

"You alright?" he asked.

"I am unharmed. McGee is...unconscious, but alive."

"They after the footage?"

"Yes."

"What happened? Why are they still inside?"

"I believe their intentions were to leave, once they had what they'd come for. Something changed...frightened them into staying."

"That's enough," the man pulled the phone away and put it to his ear. "Gibbs, if you want your agents back alive, I suggest you find a way to get us outta here," he told him.

"Let me in," Gibbs told him. "You let the civilians out, in trade for me. You'll have yourselves three federal agents for hostages. We can go from there."

The suspect seemed to ponder the thought for a moment before replying. "It's not up to me. You'll have to call back. Give me ten minutes..."

Present...

"Did they make the trade?" Mags asked.

Gibbs cocked his head, "Partially. Traded half the civilians. The point was for me to get inside. Had to prove to them that we could protect them. But they'd need to help us, first..."

2 hours ago; inside the bank...

"You don't get it, do you?" the leader shouted at Gibbs. "We don't know where he is! We were supposed to destroy the footage in the system, then call him. He was gonna tell us where to bring the flash drive after we got out."

"You realize that was because he knew that if you were caught," Gibbs told him, "That you wouldn't be able to lead us to him? He told you to destroy the drive if you couldn't get out, didn't he?"

"Yeah," the unmasked man told him. "So, what do we do? We can't lead you to him? Now what? You won't protect us if we can't help you..."

"You might be able to help, still," Gibbs retorted. "You got his number?" The man nodded. "You let me call my office; we set up a trace on the bank phone line. You call him from here, tell him you're gonna give yourselves up. But tell him you've still got the drive, and if he wants you to destroy it, he needs to promise to leave you alone."

"He'll say anything to get us to destroy it," the masked man interjected. "Doesn't mean he won't have us killed."

"Don't need him to mean what he says," Gibbs told him. "Just need to keep him on the line long enough to get a trace. Once we get it, we can get people there fast. We find our missing person, put this guy away, you'll have our protection, and me standing in court for you, telling the judge how you helped saved a man's life, and put away a kidnapper."

The room grew quiet for a good several minutes, each of the men looking at each other for answers. The leader of the group, after a moment, removed his mask. "I lead these guys into this," he told Gibbs. "My job to get them out. If this is how it's gotta be done...guess I have no choice..."

Present...

"It worked," Gibbs told Mags. "Abby got a trace on the call. We found him in less than seven minutes. The lieutenant was rushed to the hospital, and the kidnapper...well, he decided to go down fighting. Tried to run; took a few shots off at the FBI. They gunned him down."

"Looks like the bank robbers...er...the henchmen, rather, won't need protecting, now," Mags added. She sighed and leaned back in her chair. "Wow, Gibbs. You do this all the time? It's a wonder you didn't get hurt in there...And it's a wonder not all your agents are as gray as you," she smirked and arched a brow. Gibbs let out a soft chuckle. "How's Tim?" she asked, smile falling from her face.

"He's fine," Gibbs replied. "Mild concussion. Abby's lookin' after him, for now."  
"Guess I won't be meeting any of the rest of your team today."

"Probably not."

"I should check on Tony. You want me to make you somethin' to eat?" she asked as she got up from the table.

"You're a cook now, too?" he raised a brow.

"I don't wanna brag," she quirked a smile as she headed out of the room, towards Tony's.

Gibbs just smiled to himself. Mags was quickly growing on him; something that was pretty rare to happen with him. He stood and went to the fridge. There wasn't much, in terms of making a meal. With Mags there, he thought he might be able to run out and pick a few things up...

"Gibbs?" Mags returned to the room with a look of concern on her face. "Has Tony been experiencing any fever, that you've noticed?"

"No," he straightened and closed the fridge door. "Why?"

"Well, he's running one, now," she told him. "It's not very high, but I'd keep an eye on it. Any of your team sick?"

"Don't think so. They all seem to be fine," he furrowed his brows and headed past her and into Tony's room. The younger man was still asleep, looking pretty comfortable. "How long has he been asleep?"

"Couple of hours, now," she told him.

"Doesn't usually sleep this long," he said, concerned, as he laid a gentle hand on Tony's forehead. "Did he seem like he might be getting sick?"

"Seemed perfectly fine, to me," Mags told him. "And he might be, Gibbs. He had a big day, you know. New nurse; appointment with a shrink. He's probably just tired. And he might need some more pain medication, when he wakes up. He could be on the warm side due to discomfort."

"Then we should wake him up and give him something," he turned to her.

"I'll give him something in his IV port," she told him. "No need to wake him up, especially if he's in pain."

Gibbs watched her move around the room, preparing to give him the medication. The port had been kept in, in case he needed to be put back on fluids. So far, they hadn't had to use it. Something twisted in his gut, that Tony had been sleeping for so long. But he trusted Mags' input.

Still, he resigned himself to stay at Tony's bedside. At least until whatever this was, was gone...


	27. Chapter 27

Gibbs had settled comfortably in the recliner beside the bed, and began to drift off. He'd sent Mags out to the store, with some money, to pick up Tony's prescription refills, and she also offered to pick up some groceries, which he didn't argue against. After making a call to Ducky about the fever, the older man told him he'd come by later in the evening, once he was finished at the office, to check in on the senior field agent. Though Mags was qualified, Ducky had more experience with Tony's medical issues, all around.

After the hectic better part of the day, Gibbs was soon somewhere in the midst of wake and sleep. But before he could slip completely into unconsciousness, he was pulled back awake by sudden struggled whimpering beside him. The whimpers quickly turned into full-out screams, and Gibbs was suddenly wide awake; heart pounding in his chest.

Tony's body was squirming, arching up off of the bed as he screamed out. Gibbs panicked, but only for a moment, before shooting up out of the chair and going to Tony's side. "Tony!" Gibbs grasped onto the younger man's shoulders to try and still him, before he could hurt himself. "Tony, wake up!" he yelled, realizing he was in the throes of a nightmare.

"N-no! No...l-leave me 'lone! P-please ss-sstop!" his head thrashed from side to side, tears escaping the outer corners of his eyes.

"Tony, you're dreaming!" Gibbs called out, desperate to pull him from the terror he was reliving. "You're safe! Wake up, DiNozzo!"

Tony's breath shuddered from his chest, then he swallowed, convulsively, as if attempting to climb out of the hell that he was trapped in. "G...Gibbs?" he choked out, eyes still clamped shut, with fear.

"Yeah, it's me," Gibbs told him, more quietly. "C'mon. Open your eyes."

Attempting to bring his breathing under control, Tony slowly forced his eyes to open. It took a moment to focus, blinking against the images that still seemed to play right before him. But it didn't seem to be helping, and as soon as he felt the strong hands loosen on his shoulders, he used his elbows to push himself up and he kicked his way back against the headboard, as if to escape.

"Calm down, Tony," Gibbs sat on the mattress and placed his hand back on the younger man's shoulder, and another on the bent leg that was nearly jabbing him in the side. "It's okay; you're okay. You're in my house, remember? You were asleep; dreaming."

Tony met his boss's eyes, staring at him for a few long moments, as if he were waiting for him to morph into something or someone else, and signify that he was still, in fact, trapped in that dream. But nothing changed. He felt the strong hand on his shoulder and his leg, unwavering, and he began to allow himself to believe the man in front of him. He closed his eyes, hanging his head a bit, ashamedly.

"Are you in pain?" Gibbs asked, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. Tony shook his head at the same moment he pulled in a shaky breath that he couldn't manage to mask. It's the same moment he realized that he was shaking, and he couldn't stop that, either. "Hey," Gibbs said in a soft voice, the hand on Tony's leg moving up to Tony's face. "It's alright," he attempted to get the younger man to look at him again. "It's okay. Promise you."

Tony wished like hell that he could use his hands. Determining, or rather affirming, that something was real, was a lot easier when he could touch it. It'd been driving him mad not to be able to, for so long. It was frustrating and infuriating and pathetic, all rolled into one.

However, it seemed right then, that Gibbs could tell exactly what he'd been thinking. He felt himself being pulled forward; an arm wrapped around his shoulders, and the other under his arm and around to his back, until his head lolled forward onto Gibbs' shoulder. His face making contact with the older man, was suddenly as powerful as being able to outright hold onto him...

Gibbs felt Tony turn his head and press his cheek and forehead strongly into the crook of his neck; the heat from the fever, soaking immediately through his shirt. The shaking that coursed through Tony's body, somehow became deeper, as if he'd started crying. But the younger man didn't make a sound, other than that of him attempting to bring his breathing under control.

The lead agent decidedly tightened his hold around Tony, and found himself gently rocking him from side to side, almost imperceptibly...


	28. Chapter 28

"How are you feeling?" Ziva asked McGee, as she brought him a replacement ice pack. She'd volunteered to keep an eye on the agent that afternoon, until Abby could get out of work to take over.

"Other than embarrassed?" he asked as he handed over the no-longer-cold pack, and placed the cold one on his temple. "The throbbing has backed slightly away from Independence Day at an IMAX theater, and ebbed into front row seats at a monster truck rally."

"You can celebrate the fourth of July at a movie theater?" Ziva inquired, narrowing her eyes as she sat down beside him on his couch.

"No no," he managed to remember not to move his head, as he explained. "Independence Day is a movie that came out in 96. It had a lot of really loud surround sound..."

"Of fireworks?"

"Of spaceships and planes and stuff. It's a science-fiction."

"Oh... And this monster truck rally is a bunch of very big trucks, running over cars."

"For the most part, yeah," he replied, surprised she didn't need an explanation for that one.

"A lot of screeching metal and smashing cars, ridiculously loud screaming fans... I am trying to understand how this would be a comparison that shows improvement of your level of pain..."

"The point was that it's not really any better," McGee explained, in a bit of a groan. "Less surround sound, but more screeching."

"You hear screeching?"

"Yes. Right now...yes..."

"You should not have taunted him," Ziva said, either ignoring the remark, or not catching it.

"I was trying to reason with him," he argued.

"He could just as well have shot you, instead of knocking you out."

"They're not killers," he reminded her. "They're not good people, but they're not killers. And the one that had his mask off at the time, I felt like he'd listen to reason. If their leader hadn't been so paranoid, I wouldn't have gotten hit at all."

"Perhaps not," she agreed. "However, I do believe that your mentioning of us being able to protect them, assisted in a greater belief once Gibbs offered the same deal to them. Truth be told, I am glad that it was you in there, and not Tony."

McGee turned to her, furrowing his brow as his hand holding the ice pack to his head lowered slightly. "Why do you say that?"

"Tony...has a knack for mouthing off to the wrong people," she explained. "You were trying to reason with them. I believe Tony would have said something that they...did not find amusing, and he would have gotten himself shot; killers or not."

"You're wrong," McGee defended. "Tony might not know when to shut up, sometimes. But he can tell when it's a really bad idea to egg someone on. He would've seen how agitated the leader was. That's something I hadn't really taken into consideration. Tony plays with fire when he thinks it'll get something out of the suspect. He doesn't do it for his own enjoyment."

"Unless it is one of us," she raised a brow.

"That's different."

"How?"

"It just is. And we give as good as he gives us. It's a completely different situation. Ziva, why are you bashing on Tony?"

"I'm doing no such thing. I am simply pointing a few things out..."

"I'm not so sure about that," he retorted. "And when's the last time you went and visited him? We've all been to Gibbs' house at least twice, since Tony was let out of the hospital. Everyone but you."

"I have been working!" she defended. "And my shift to watch him was coming up, but you found a nurse, instead!"

"What about off-hours? Do you even care?"

"Well, I could be visiting him right now, if I wasn't stuck here, babysitting you!"

"Oh really? Well fine, then. 'Cause I don't need a babysitter. So go on! Go see Tony, and stop using me and everything else as an excuse not to!"

11 00 11 00 11

"Feeling any better?" Gibbs asked, as he wiped Tony's forehead with a damp, cool washcloth.

"Shaking seems to have stopped," he told him, sitting back, comfortably against the pillows that helped perch him back against the headboard. "The embarrassment keeps eating away the lining of my stomach, though," he gave a sheepish smile.

Gibbs returned the small grin, "You've got nothin' to be embarrassed about. We all get nightmares."

"Bet you don't wake up screaming, and cry on your boss's shoulder for twenty minutes," he retorted.

"You're fever was pretty high," Gibbs told him. "Got it down a bit, now. But Duck says a fever like that can even induce the nightmares itself. Made it more intense. Your reaction to it was normal."

"Doesn't make it any less embarrassing," Tony concluded with a sigh. He glanced around the room, as Gibbs dipped the washcloth back in the basin of cool water. "Why are you home so early?" Tony asked.

"It's not early."

"It's 1800 hours, and you've been here for at least two and a half, that I know of. That means you got home early. What's going on? You didn't come home because of my fever, did you?"

"No," he replied, calmly. "Finished up with a case, earlier than expected, and sent everyone home."

"Gibbs," Mags poked her head into the room. "Your agent, Ziva, is here to see Tony."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes, "Send her in." He waited until Ziva came into the room and shut the door, to speak. "Why aren't you watching McGee?"

"He angrily expressed that I leave," she told him. "And it has been far too long since I've been able to visit Tony," she looked to DiNozzo and gave him a warm smile.

"Why did she need to watch McGee?" Tony asked.

"He's got a concussion," Gibbs said, without looking away from the female agent. "Which kinda makes decisions not up to him, right now," he pointed out.

"I called Abby, who is finishing up at work right now, and will be heading over there to check in on him."

"How'd he get a concussion?" Tony asked, worriedly.

"There was a situation...that got out of hand, today," Ziva explained. "We were being held hostage. McGee was struck by one of the suspects. It is only a mild concussion. He will be fine."

"That doesn't excuse you from disregarding an order," Gibbs snapped. "You were told to stay with him until someone came to take over."

"Like I said," she became a bit angry, "He became quite insistent that I leave. Angry, even. He went so far as to say some very unkind things to me."

"Tiny Tim? Mean?" Tony questioned, incredulously.

"He's got a concussion, and his behavior suddenly drastically changes, and you think it's anything but stupid to up and leave him alone?" Gibbs stood. "I'll deal with you, later," he said, before stalking out of the room.

"Gibbs!" she spun around.

"I said later!" he left, and they listened as he quickly made his way out of the house.

"Ziva, what the hell happened?" Tony asked in a quiet voice.

She hesitantly turned back around, eyes darting anywhere but to meet his. "He...became agitated with me," she explained. "Accused me of not caring about you, because I have not been here to see you, yet. But he's wrong," she approached the bed, sinking down in the chair beside it. "What he did not notice was that I was picking up the slack, with everyone being gone. I had not been put on shift here, yet. I was supposed to be, but then he hired that nurse, and suddenly there was no shift. He was trying to make it seem as though I was avoiding you. That is simply not true. You know this, yes?" she looked up, finally, to meet his eyes.

But Tony's expression was unreadable. It was several long moments, before he responded. "Of course, I know that, Ziva. But you're supposed to have Tim's back. You left him alone."

"He told me to leave!" she shot up out of the chair. "And excuse me, but I am not used to being hurt by McGee, of all people! I did not want to stay there with him..."

"You must've had a really tough day, Zee," he said, suddenly calm. She was a bit taken back by his words, and looked at him in question. "Letting yourself be affected so much by a few mischosen words said by McGee. I don't get it. You give as good as you get. Why would you just walk away? Especially when he needed you?"

"What is with the two of you?" she threw her hands in the air. "Defending each other as if...as if you're in some sort of...bromance!"

"Wow...wow, Ziva, you actually got that right, for a change. And I mean the word...not the..."

"It does not matter! It seems as though I cannot say a single thing about either of you, without some sort of defense, forcing me to look like the bad guy!"

"Calm down, Ziva," he raised his voice a bit, this time. "We all make mistakes, and we're all a bit off our game, lately. I don't know what the hell happened, today. But it's clear that the both of you are stressed and at each others throats. There's nothing to get this upset over. Neither one of you."

Ziva stood there, watching her injured partner, as she tried to get herself back under her own control. That's when she realized the insanity of the entire situation, and suddenly, all the anger drained from her body. She found herself moving back to the chair to sit down.

"You are right... I'm sorry. I have been...an idiot. I should not have left him...Even if he was being goat-headed..."

"Pig-headed," Tony corrected. "You got bromance, but not...never mind," he sighed.

"He will be fine, yes?" she asked, looking to meet his eyes. Tony didn't have an answer. Ziva fished her cell out of her pocket to dial the agent's number. After several rings, it went to voicemail. "He is not answering..."

"Maybe he's still peeved," Tony offered. "Or maybe he's on the other line with Gibbs..."

11 00 11 00 11

"Damnit, McGee," Gibbs ended the third tried call. "Pick up your phone." He pulled his sedan into the parking lot of the younger agent's apartment complex. He quickly parked and exited the car, hurrying up the walkway to the entrance.

In his mind, he pictured the young agent in the worst possible scenarios. He could've had complications, and could be on the floor, seizing right now; no one there to get him help. He could've lost consciousness and fallen. He could've fallen asleep and slipped into a coma...

Gibbs entered the building, turning the corner toward the elevator. But he stopped short, seeing McGee sitting at the bottom of the stairwell. He looked small and vulnerable, curled up with his arms hugging his knees almost to his chest, and leaning his side up against the wall.

"McGee?" Gibbs approached him. But he didn't answer. "Hey...Tim?" the older man took a cautious seat beside him. That's when McGee turned his head to meet Gibbs' eyes.

"Are you talking to me?" he asked in a small voice.

"What're you doing down here?"

Tim's eyes darted around, confused. "I...I think I...came down to get the mail," he replied. Gibbs noticed the mailbox slots along the very wall Tim had been leaning on. "But...I think I fell," he continued.

Gibbs looked back at him, "You hurt yourself?"

"My head hurts," he told him.

"Let's get you back upstairs," Gibbs suggested, standing from the step and offering a hand to McGee.

"I...I don't... I looked at the mailboxes," he told him, stumbling over his words. "I couldn't find it- couldn't..."

"We'll get your mail later. Not important now."

"I needed to...I had to find it, so I knew what number...but...I... I can't remember."

"Can't remember what?"

He met Gibbs' eyes with fearful ones, "Which one is mine..."


	29. Chapter 29

Tony sat, a bit impatiently, as Mags cleaned the entry-areas on the devices on his arms. Ziva had gotten a phone call, and was in the other room. He could hear her muffled voice, but couldn't make out what was being said. Before Mags was finished, he could no longer hear Ziva speaking in the other room.

"There we go, sugar," Mags patted his shoulder, then began cleaning up the used supplies.

"Thanks, Mags. Hey, can you send Ziva back in here?" he asked, trying not to sound too impatient.

"Sure thing, baby," she replied, taking the bag of trash out the door with her.

Within moments, Ziva was slowly making her way into the room; her eyes downcast.

"Zee? What's going on? Was that Gibbs on the phone?" She nodded. "Well?" Truth be told, Tony was worried about Tim.

"He..." she hesitated. "Gibbs is taking McGee...back to the hospital," she told him.

"What?" Tony sat up straighter.

Ziva looked ashamed, still unable to meet his eyes. "He fell," her voice cracked. "Gibbs believes he may have hit his head again. He is taking him in to be seen...to make sure there..." her voice drifted off.

"Why can't McGee tell him whether he hit his head or not?" Tony tilted his head a bit.

"Because he...cannot remember."

"What's that... I don't understand..."

"He cannot remember much of anything," she told him, meeting his eyes now. "Gibbs found him near the apartment's mailboxes, unable to recall which one was his, or which apartment to go back to," tears shone in her eyes. "This is my fault," came out as an ashamed whisper.

"Ziva..."

"I should not have gotten so angry," she didn't let him finish. "I should have stayed..."

"Yeah, you should have," Tony replied. "Too late for that, now."

"I know. I can't change what happened... I made a...horrible decision, and now McGee is paying for it," a tear slipped down her cheek, and she didn't bother to swipe it away. "I have disregarded my training...and I have been a...terrible friend."

"We all make mistakes," Tony told her. "Doesn't mean you're a bad friend."

"Gibbs said that if anything happens to him, I will be lucky to keep my job," she told him, finally wiping the wet streak from her cheek. "If anything does happen, then I will resign."

"Come on, Zee. You've worked hard to get where you are now," Tony argued. "One mistake doesn't warrant you running away."

"How can I show my face at NCIS again, if something happens to him, that makes him unable to work?"

"He'll be okay," he replied, not really sure whether or not what he was saying was true. "You resigning is the same kind of reaction you had when you and the probie had an argument, and you stormed off. You can't do that again, Ziva."

"Why?" she asked, a bit of a bite in her tone. "Because I would letting the team down? If McGee is seriously hurt, then it is too late for me trying to preserve my loyalty to all of you. If you cannot trust me to have your six, then I have no place on this team, anymore."

"Listen," he tried to calm her, by speaking softly. "Having our six on duty and off, is something you have rarely ever failed at in the past. This is different; has to be. There's a lot going on, right now. I should know," he let out a small laugh. "Problem is, you're always the last to say anything about how it's affecting you, if at all. What happened today, was the result. Your head's not on straight. When you feel that happening, you need to tell someone. You can't tough through it, when it's someone else you're responsible for protecting. You should know that."

"I do," she told him. "But I have never allowed it to affect me, before... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she shook her head, hiding her face from him once again.

"I'm not the one you need to tell that to..."

11 00 11 00 11

"There's some minor swelling, probably aggravated by the second injury to the skull," the doctor explained to both Gibbs and McGee, where he lay in the ER bed. "This is what we believe is causing the amnesia. Once the swelling goes down, and he's had some rest, everything should start coming back to him."

"Any idea how long that'll be?" Gibbs asked.

"Could be 24 to 48 hours. Maybe less. We've got him on some anti-inflammatory medication, as well as the pain killers. My suggestion is that he stay here until he's regained his memory." Gibbs nodded in acknowledgment. "Oh, and there's a Dr. Mallard just outside. I wanted to be sure you knew him, before letting him in."

"Yeah, he's part of our team," Gibbs informed him.

"Very well. If you need anything, just let one of the nurses know. They can page me, if need be."

Gibbs nodded, and the doctor turned and left. Moments later, Ducky made his way into the room. "Good afternoon, Timothy," he gave a warm smile as he approached the bed. "How are you feeling?"

McGee looked at him, a bit of confusion playing on his face. Gibbs didn't miss it. "You remember him, Tim?" he asked.

He shook his head, "I...think I remember his voice...?" he looked back over to Gibbs.

Gibbs put a hand on the younger agent's shoulder, "That's better than nothin'."

"Yes," Ducky smiled. "The doctor informed me of the swelling. I believe they've chosen the correct method of treatment. Do you intend to stay and keep watch on him, Jethro?"

"Gotta get back to Tony," Gibbs said. "But I'm staying here until Abs shows up."

"Tony?" McGee's brows furrowed, and his eyes darted about in front of him.

"He's your partner; part of our team," Gibbs told him.

"Tony's...hurt..." McGee looked back to his boss.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes, but nodded, slowly. "Yeah, that's right. You remember about that?"

"I...I remember..." he clamped his eyes closed, in thought. Gibbs and Ducky shared a questioning glance. "I remember...being angry," he said. "And...sad. Tony...is my friend?" he looked back to Gibbs.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's right, McGee. Tony's your friend."

"You should be with him," Tim looked up at him with worry in his eyes. "I'll be okay here."

"Abby will be here soon," Gibbs told him.

"Ducky can stay here. You can go now," Tim insisted.

"I need Ducky to come with me," the older agent informed. "Tony's been running a fever, and needs to be checked out. So we'll go when she gets here. It's alright, Tim. There's a nurse with him, and Ziva's there."

"Timmy!" Abby's voice sounded from the door, and each of them looked over to her as she bounded into the room towards the bed. "Oh, my poor baby... Are you okay?" She watched as the young agent turned to look to Gibbs, confused. "Gibbs?" she questioned.

"He's got some memory loss, Abs," Gibbs told her. "Should only be temporary."

"You don't remember me?" tears filled her eyes as she watched her friend turn his gaze back to her.

"I...I'm sorry," he told her, genuinely feeling guilty for having caused the woman to cry. "I'll...I'll try?"

She let out a small laugh, "I'm sure you'll remember soon. Right, Ducky? He'll be okay, right?" she turned to the M.E.

"I'm sure he'll be just fine, Abigail," he told her with a soft smile. "We'll leave you, for now. Anthony needs to be tended to."

"Did something happen?" Abby's worry renewed.

"He's running a bit of a fever. Hopefully, I'll be able to determine whether or not it's one that will need greater attention than I can give..."

11 00 11 00 11

Gibbs entered the house a bit faster than Ducky could manage to keep up. His intent had been to drag Ziva out back and give her a piece of his mind, but as he got to the room, he could sense the thick worry that permeated the air.

Ziva, who had been wiping a cool cloth over Tony's reddened face, looked up at him. "He is doing worse, since you left," she said, clearly concerned. She didn't dare bring up McGee, though she longed to ask how he was.

Mags was taking Tony's blood pressure and pulse, tuning everyone else in the room out.

Gibbs moved in to take over where Ziva had been, and she'd briskly cleared the way for him. "Hey, DiNozzo," he said, softly, taking in the flushed appearance of his colleague. He was heavy-lidded and seemed short of breath. "Brought Ducky with me. He's gonna check you out, alright?"

"Boss...how's McGee?" he asked, as if he had no other concern.

"He's gonna be fine, Tony," Gibbs told him.

"He fell... He doesn't remember..." the worry grew more apparent on his face.

"He's in the hospital being taken care of. He's gonna be okay, I promise."

"Quite right," Ducky said as he entered the room. "Timothy will be just fine. Now let's see what's going on with our dear Anthony, shall we?" he stood beside Mags. "What's his current temperature?"

"103.8," she replied. "And it's not breakin' anymore. We got it to go down a bit, earlier. But nothin' seems to be helpin', now. I'm concerned about it getting' any higher," she looked at him, a bit worried. She knew the risks of high fever, but wouldn't say them out loud, for fear of making it any worse for Tony. "There's no obvious sign of why this is happenin'. No change in his medication levels, and I even dropped him off a bit, in case it was the meds causing the fever. But there was no change. Think it could be an infection?" she asked.

"It's not altogether impossible," Ducky replied, looked over the patient. "But it could be a number of things. I think it might be best to get him to the hospital, Jethro," he said, looking to his friend. "It might not be very serious, but there's always the possibility that he's rejecting the blood transfusion, or that he has a clot, in which case, he needs urgent assistance."

"Going...back to the hospital, Boss?" Tony looked at him through half-closed eyes.

"Looks like it," Gibbs told him.

"Don't wanna."

"I know. But you need to get checked out."

"Ducky can check me."

"Ducky says you need to go. Hey, you can check on McGee while we're there," he squeezed his shoulder and gave him a small smile.

"I can? McGee's gonna be okay, right, Boss?" his voice grew quieter.

"Yeah, he is. Could probably use a visit, though. And once they check you out and say it's okay to go see him, we'll go see him."

"Okay... Okay, Boss. Let's go," he moved to sit himself up, weakly.

"Hang on. Lemme help you..."


	30. Chapter 30

Gibbs led Tony, carefully, out to the car. Mags had grabbed the keys, insisting on driving. "I started out volunteering for rescue squad," she'd said. "I can get you there. You just get in the back with your boy." And Gibbs had taken that offer. It was hard not to, once he'd settled Tony into the seat, and the younger agent shivered and curled into himself.

Gibbs slid in beside him, becoming a safety cushion before Tony could fall over. Once he shut the door, Gibbs put a supporting arm around the younger man's shoulders, and guided him into a comfortable position against his chest, leaning back. Tony complied, willingly, another shiver running through his body as his shoulder slid snugly against Gibbs' side.

"Don't feel so good, Boss," Tony told him in a quiet voice, as the car sped up the road.

"I know, DiNozzo," Gibbs replied. "We're gonna get you some help."

"'M so tired..."

"Just stay awake for me, alright? We'll be there soon."

"But I'm so tired..."

The heat that radiated through Gibbs' shirt from Tony's head, frightened him. "Hey," he positioned his hands to push Tony a bit upright, and took hold of either side of the younger man's lolling head. He was barely able to keep his eyes open. "Stay with me, you hear?"

Tony groaned, weakly, "Can't... I can't, B'ss..."

"Tony..." Tony's eyes slid closed. "Hey!" he lightly tapped him a couple of times on the cheek, but received no response. Gibbs glanced up at the rear view mirror at a worried Mags. But his attention was quickly dragged back to his agent, when he felt the sudden jerking movement of his head, still cradled in his hands. That's when he realized the stiffness in the younger man's body, and the spasming that was wracking it. "He's seizing!" Gibbs shouted, trying to arrange Tony on his side, and protect the agent's arms.

"His fever must be climbing!" she replied.

"Get us there, now!"

11 00 11 00 11

"What happened?" Ziva asked as she rushed into the emergency room waiting area. "You suddenly sped off to the point that Ducky was unable to keep up."

Gibbs looked up at her from where he was seated, fixing her with a heated glare. "I don't have the patience to deal with you, right now, Ziva," he said, as calmly as he could manage. "Talk to Mags," he pushed to stand up, and stormed off toward the restrooms.

Ziva flinched at the words, swallowing down a lump that formed in her throat. She watched him leave, and fought back tears that started to form in her eyes.

Mags watched her for a moment, feeling a bit sorry for the girl. Slowly, she stood from her chair, just as Ducky hurried in the door towards them. She put a hand on Ziva's shoulder, and it was as if the younger woman was just noticing her presence, as her gaze fell upon her.

"Tony's fever climbed high enough to cause him to seize, on the way here," she told her. "That's why we sped up."

"How long did he seize?" Ducky asked, overhearing her words.

"A couple of minutes, maybe," she told him. "I couldn't exactly keep my eyes on the clock."

"Any word, yet?"

"No. But I informed them that you'd be comin'. You should be able to go on back. Just tell them who you are."

"Thank you, my dear," he replied, then turned to Ziva and placed a hand on her arm. "Just give him some time. His emotions have been stretched to the limit, lately. We all know how that can sometimes effect our words." Ziva didn't meet his eyes, but watched when he disappeared down the hall, through the emergency doors.

She looked back at Mags, for a moment, before glancing elsewhere. "I need to go see McGee," she told her. "I need to apologize, if he will accept it."

"Honey, he may not even recognize you right now," she told her.

"It does not matter. Eventually, he will remember our argument. But I would rather he come to that realization, already having the knowledge that I am...sorry." She walked away, without another word, and Mags didn't attempt to stop her. She then looked up the hallway, toward the restrooms...

*~.~*

Gibbs splashed cool water on his face, over the sink. He could still feel the frightening heat that'd transferred to him from his senior field agent's feverish body. That, and a combination of the anger he was harboring for the newest member of their team. McGee's condition wasn't exactly guaranteed to improve, regardless of how likely they said it was. That both scared him and angered him.

But of all of that, he was most terrified for Tony. Just when he thought the man had suffered enough, something else happens to make it worse. The seizure had scared the hell out of him, and he was finding it difficult to shake the feeling of doom.

Behind him, he heard the door open, and he assumed it would be Ziva. But when he turned, he saw Mags. "You alright, Gibbs?" she asked.

"Yeah," he turned away and grabbed a paper towel from the wall, to dry his face.

"I'm sorry...for what's happening with Tony. I should've seen-"

"Never apologize. Sign of weakness."

Mags' face scrunched up. "That's the biggest load of crap I ever heard," she told him. Gibbs smirked and shook his head. "You know, I know you're goin' through a lot with your team, right now. But bein' angry with Ziva, isn't gonna help anyone."  
"Mags..."

"Just listen, for a minute, will ya?" she took a step forward and leaned back on the sinks. "She's goin' through all this fear, just like the rest of ya. Except on top of that, she's got a buffet-full of guilt. And maybe she deserves that-"

"She does! Like you said, she's part of this team, and she let McGee down."

"Yeah, she did. She knows that, Gibbs. She made a bad decision, and she realizes that, and it kills her inside, even if she ain't willing to show it. I can see it in her eyes, and I barely know the girl. She let her partner down. She deserves to feel guilty about that. But what she doesn't deserve, is for you to abandon her."

Gibbs turned to her with narrowed eyes, "I'm not abandoning her."

"You're sure as hell actin' like it," she retorted, brows raised. "And that's all I could see in her eyes when you stormed off, earlier. The look on her face, was like she'd just been slapped by her daddy." Gibbs flinched. "Now, I won't presume to know what kinda home life that girl had. But I'm guessin' it wasn't chock full of rainbows and sunshine. She cares about you, or at least cares about you caring about her. All I could see in her face, when you walked away, was a broken heart."

Gibbs looked at her for a few moments, before shaking his head and turning back to the sink again, "I don't have time for this."

"I ain't tellin' you to reassure her, or make her feel better about any of this," she told him. "Hell, I ain't tellin' to do anything; you're technically my boss. Not vice versa. But Ziva seems like she's got a good handle on punishing the hell out of herself. She's got two close friends in the hospital. I just don't think she can handle also being the cause of some pretty impressive anger, to one of the only ones she has left."

With that, Mags turned and silently left the room, leaving Gibbs by himself again. Gibbs leaned over the sink, supporting himself with his hands on the counter. He looked up at himself in the mirror, letting out a breath...

11 00 11 00 11

Ziva entered McGee's room, and was met, swiftly, with a harsh slap across her cheek. Surprised, she gasped, seeking out the culprit, who happened to be a very angry goth forensic scientist.

"How dare you leave him!" she yelled. "Look at what you've done!"

"I am sorry," Ziva told her, still holding her hand to her cheek. "I deserved that. But I came here to tell McGee that I am sorry...So please, Abby..." her eyes pleaded with her. And since Abby could see the torment in them, and the rare sight of tears building up within them, she couldn't help but to let go of the anger and step aside.

Ziva approached Tim's bed, noting that the man seemed a bit horrified and confused by the interaction between the two women.

"Do you...remember me?" she asked him. Tim swallowed and shook his head. Ziva nodded in understanding. "I am Ziva. I work with you. We are partners... But I did not act like one today, and that is the reason that you are here, now, and don't remember us." McGee eyes remained locked with hers, and seemed even more confused. "Eventually, you will remember what I'm talking about. When you do, please know...that I'm sorry. I did not mean for you to get hurt... I should not have left you; should not have let our argument sway my decision. And then, perhaps, you will understand why I will be leaving."

"Ziva..." Abby protested. "Wait..."

"I did not have your back, when you needed me. I don't deserve to remain part of this team."

"Ziva, you can't leave," Abby approached her.

"This is not your decision to make, Abby," Ziva turned to her.

"Ziva," they both turned towards Gibbs' voice that sounded from the doorway. He crooked a finger, motioning for her to come out into the hall. She hesitated, but only for a moment, then followed him out.

"Gibbs, I-"

"You're not leaving the team," he said, turning to her.

"I do not deserve-"

"What you didn't deserve, was the way I reacted. So I'm sorry for that."

Ziva's mouth hung open a bit. "You...did you just apologize?"

"You screwed up," he told her. "And your partner was hurt. What you did was wrong. But we're all under a lot of stress. It's understandable, and I know it won't happen again. I don't want you to leave the team, Ziva," he put his hands on her shoulders. "Don't disappoint me again. We've got enough on our plates."

Ziva was speechless. All she could do was nod. And eventually, his hands dropped, and he walked away, leaving her standing there...


	31. Chapter 31

Gibbs stood beside the ICU room bed, looking down at the unconscious agent, covered in cooling blankets, and still looking a bit flushed. The fact that he hadn't regained consciousness since the seizure, troubled Gibbs greatly.

Though it did feel marginally better to have let go of most of his anger at Ziva, it didn't change the fact that he had two of his agents in the hospital; one of them battling against an unknown force.

The doctors were running tests, or rather, waiting for results from them. But it felt like everything was taking too long; like they were running out of time. What really wasn't fair, was that Gibbs could do nothing about it. Nothing but wait, that is. He hated waiting.

The lead agent sank down into the chair beside the bed, with a weary sigh. Though there might be nothing he could do to help Tony to get better, he could at least keep vigil over him. Ducky had gone to take Mags back to her car, still at Gibbs' house. He'd surely be back, later, insisting that Gibbs get some rest, or something of the sort. They'd had a horribly long day, the lot of them. But there would be no rest, if he had to leave that room before knowing that Tony was going to be okay...

11 00 11 00 11

It was late in the night, when McGee awoke from a mostly peaceful slumber. He'd had a vivid dream that he concluded must be a memory. There was a woman, and she'd done horrible things to...Tony. Tony... the name kept coming back to him. But the dream was getting fuzzy now. He struggled to hold onto it, frustrated that he couldn't remember much of anything.

"Tony..." he said out loud.

"Timmy?" Abby's voice sounded beside him, and he looked over to her. She must've been sleeping, before his voice woke her up. "Are you okay?"

"I...I dunno..."

"You said 'Tony'. Do you remember Tony?" she got a bit closer to the bed.

"I... He's hurt. Tony's hurt?"

"He's here in the hospital. He's sick with a fever and they're not sure what-"

"I need to see him," Tim interrupted, turning and swinging his legs off the side of the bed.

"Tim, you're not supposed to be up out of bed!" she argued.

"Please, Abby," he met her eyes. "I have this...feeling in my gut, and I can't remember why. I need to know why..." his eyes pleaded with her.

Abby swallowed, nervously...

11 00 11 00 11

Gibbs stirred, in the chair where he'd inadvertently dozed off. The sound of the elevator dinging in the hall had pulled him from his sleep. He straightened a bit, when he recognized the sound of Abby's boots slowly approaching the room, trying to be quiet. What he hadn't expected, however, was the wheelchair she entered the room pushing.

"McGee?" Gibbs whispered, standing from the chair.

"I'm sorry, Gibbs," Abby whispered. "He insisted..."

Gibbs looked down at Tim again, noticing how the younger man was now staring over at Tony's motionless form. He narrowed his eyes as McGee pushed himself up out of the chair, and moved toward him, so that he could catch him if he started to fall.

But McGee was fairly steady on his feet, and took a step forward toward Tony's bed. Then he stopped. Looking down at his friend, something started forming in the back of his mind, pushing its way back into his memory... It started out very small, and suddenly came full force. It knocked him off balance, caused pain to explode behind his eyes, and he felt himself falling. But he felt himself held up, by what had to be Gibbs' arms around his torso.

"McGee!"

"Timmy!" he heard beside him, then felt himself being lowered back into the chair. All of this, however, was furthest back in his thoughts. His mind was much too busy processing the flood of information that flashed before his eyes.

"Mc...Gee?" Tony's weak voice sounded from behind Gibbs, and the older man turned to see his eyes cracked open, and his head turned toward them. "W-what's wrong...with him?" he asked.

Even if they'd had an answer, they wouldn't have been able to give it to him, as the room was suddenly bombarded with nursing staff, scolding the lot of them for bringing Tim from his room. Abby was profusely apologizing and followed them out as they took him away, leaving Gibbs with Tony.

"What...what's wrong with...Tim, Boss?" Tony asked, weakly, once again.

Gibbs turned to him and approached the bed. "Not sure, but he'll be okay. Good to see you awake, DiNozzo," he gave him a small smile and placed a hand high on Tony's shoulder. "You've been running a high fever. Had a seizure, and you've been out since."

"'m I sick?" his hooded lids proved he was still feeling unwell.

"Tryin' to find that out," he told him, gently. "You in any pain?"

Tony shook his head, "Not really. Stomach hurts. Got a...bit of a headache. But i's okay."

"Anthony, you're awake," Ducky said, quietly, as he entered the room. A small smile played across his features. "And just in time for some news."

"Docs got the test results back?" Gibbs looked to his older friend.

"Indeed, they did. Anthony's fever is being caused by tissue deterioration. Evidently, it's entered a more aggressive stage of reparation. It's causing his body to overwork itself."

"What can they do for him?"

"Well, all they can do, technically, is treat the fever as best they can. They're also changing his pain management regimen. They have a theory that that might also be assisting in keeping his temperature up so high... Tell me, was that Timothy I saw being led to the elevator, a bit ago?"

"It was," Gibbs nodded.

"What happened? He looked quite in pain..."

"Not sure what happened. But he wasn't supposed to have come down here."

"Can you...check on him, Ducky?" Tony asked. "Tell us what's happening?"

"Most certainly, young man," he laid a hand on Tony's shoulder. "But before I do that, I'll let the doctor know you're awake. I'll be back, once I've learned Tim's condition."

11 00 11 00 11

"I'm fine, okay!" McGee told the swarm of nurses that had returned him to his bed, fussing over getting him reconnected to the machines.

"Mr. McGee, you've had some sort of psychiatric event, and we need to bring you in for a-"

"Agent McGee," he interjected. "And no. I just had a bad headache. I was remembering a bunch of stuff, all at once. And now it's done. The headache is gone."

"You remember?" Abby asked, beside him.

"Yeah, Abs," he looked over to her. "I remember everything, and I feel fine. I don't need anymore tests. Can you tell them that?"

"It's just a precaution, Sir," the nurse told him. "There could be a reason for that intense pain. Better safe than sorry. If we let it go, there could be severe consequences. Trust me, I've seen it all."

"She's right, Timothy," Ducky said as he entered the room the rest of the way. "I'm happy to hear you've regained your memory. But you best let them do their job. It's best to find these things before they have a chance to cause even more damage."

"But...but Tony..." Tim protested. "What happened? Why is he back here? Is he sick?"

"He started to run a high fever, earlier today. But he's going to be just fine. You'll be able to visit with him, after your MRI, as long as the doctor permits it. But you must allow them to do the scan, young man."

They waited, silently, for his compliance. After a few moment, Tim nodded.

11 00 11 00 11

"So his memory's already back?" Tony asked, after Ducky came to explain.

"It seems that seeing you, jostled it back into place," the M.E told him. "Perhaps it was a strong reminder, having seen you in a hospital bed again so soon."

"He'll be okay, then?"

"They're giving him an MRI," Ducky informed him. "If there's something wrong, that will show them. Has the doctor been in to see you?"

"Yeah," Tony replied. "Gave me some pain meds, before Gibbs went to grab some coffee. Which was right as you showed up."

"He should eat something," Ducky raised his brows, thinking out loud.

"He should be home, sleeping," Tony countered. "He's had a long day."

"As we all have. But I doubt he'll leave the hospital tonight. So I've asked the nurse to bring in a cot. At least he'll get a bit of rest somewhere besides a chair."

The room fell silent for a bit, Tony looking somewhere at the far wall. "How long do you think they'll keep me here?" he asked, finally.

"I'd imagine, at least until your temperature is back to normal."

"It was down to 102, last they checked."

"So it seems it won't be quite so long, then," Ducky gave him a smile, and patted him on the shoulder. He knew how antsy Tony got when he was in the hospital. "Tim would like to visit with you, permitting his doctor allow it, once he's done with the MRI. Are you up for that?"

"Absolutely," Tony replied, without hesitation.

"Long as the pain meds don't knock him back out," Gibbs said as he walked into the room.


	32. Chapter 32

6 weeks later...

Tony hissed out a painful breath, through his teeth.

"Just two more," Mags encouraged. "You're doin' great, Tony."

Tony pressed the ball of his foot against her palm, releasing another painful breath. The cast had come off a week ago, and physical therapy hurt. But he knew it was necessary. Playing through the pain wasn't something he was unaccustomed to. "One more, yeah, I got it," he said, before she could, and pressed his foot once more.

"You did good," she smiled. "See? Gettin' better, by the day."

"When I get these damn things off my arms, and can walk around without needing someone else's help, then I'll be getting better," he retorted, with a smirk.

"Won't be too much longer, right?" McGee asked, where he sat beside the bed.

"Doc said they're healing nicely," Tony replied, turning to look at him. "Maybe another week." His gaze fell to the mattress, a look of slight worry crossing his features.

"What is it?" Tim's brows furrowed, glancing briefly to Mags, who was fixing the boot back onto Tony's leg.

"Nothing," he shook his head, forcing himself to grin.

"It's not nothing, Tony," McGee countered. He knew Tony. He knew when he was hiding something. "Something's bugging you. What is it?"

Tony shook his head, though the smile left his face. He looked to Mags, who stood and met his gaze.

"I'm gonna fix y'all somethin' for supper," she told them. "You're stayin', right, Tim?"

"Yes, ma'am," he shot her a small smile.

"Gibbs should be home within the hour, from his meeting. I'll try and time it right," she said, perhaps thinking out loud, before heading out of the room.

McGee's attention fell back on Tony, whom he knew would try and use the minor interruption to get out of answering his question. "Just tell me. You know you can talk to me, about anything...right?"

Tony swallowed, willing himself not to look at the younger man, but failing. The look of raw concern, which could probably be classified as 'puppy-dog eyes', broke him down. "It's just..." he started, then looked back down at his metal-clad arms. "When these come off... it'll be the beginning of a really long journey that could quite easily end in me not being able to- I mean..." he stopped and sighed.

"You're afraid you won't be able to do your job," Tim finished for him. Tony didn't look back up at him, but nodded, almost imperceptibly. He didn't miss the look of complete fear that consumed his very stature. "You will," he stated, without a single hint of doubt.

Tony looked at him, then; an almost incredulous expression on his face. "You can't know that."

"I do know it," he retorted. "Tony DiNozzo doesn't give up or give in, on anything. You'll fight for it, and you'll be able to do your job, just as well as you ever have. I know you will."

The muscles in Tony's face twitched for several long moments, never looking away from his partner, as if he was computing something in his head. "You've got a lot more faith in me than I do," he said, finally. "Why?"

"Really?" Tim raised his brows. "Probably because it's true. You like to act all cocky, like you've got everything under control, at all times; make us believe you're never scared of anything. But you are. Sometimes, you're downright terrified. You think you haven't got what it takes. But you always get the job done. You always get through the toughest things; things I find...unimaginable, sometimes. It doesn't matter how afraid you ever are, on the inside. You always see it through. It's what makes you brave; moreso than pretty much anyone I've ever met, in my life. It's why I look up to you..." he bowed his head for a moment, blushing at his unintentional confession. But he quickly brushed it off, because this wasn't about himself. He met Tony's eyes again. "You don't give up, Tony. Like, when you were taken with Atlas...locked up in that room; you never gave up. You never stopped trying to get the both of you out of there. Or when you insisted we go to Somalia to save Ziva. The entire time we were there... No matter how hopeless things seem, you always get us through them. You always get through them.

"You might be afraid, right now, but you'll fight this. You'll get through this, and no matter how hard it is, you'll work until you can do your job again. So yeah, I know. There's nothing anyone could say to me, to make me not believe that, with every fiber of my being."

Tony stared back at him for a long, silent, time. Once his eyes started darting around the younger man's face, Tim instinctively knew that his mentor was searching for a way to defuse the seriousness of the topic. Part of him was annoyed. The other part felt...successful.

Tony smiled, letting out a nervous laugh, "That's a lot of...pressure and expectation, you just put on me, Probie..." he swallowed.

"You can take it," he smirked. Tony glared at him, but couldn't help his own smile...

11 00 11 00 11

2 weeks later...

Gibbs entered the house, quietly, making his way to Tony's room. He stood in the doorway, observing his agent.

Tony was seated at the foot of the bed, Mags in a chair in front of him. His elbows rested, supportively, on his knees, while his hands were splayed out in front of him.

The external fixator devices had been removed, a week ago. Now, he was undergoing the process to regain mobility. Last week, Gibbs recalled, Tony had been frustrated and disappointed, when he could barely curl a finger. He had complete feeling, which seemed to be a miracle in itself. But it was difficult, how weak he actually found himself to be.

Gibbs could see the fine sheen of sweat along Tony's hairline, and could hear the effort he was putting in, in his breathing. He watched as Tony struggled, but successfully pulled, all of his fingers in, making weak fists. Then opened them again, easier than the previous exercise, but struggling again to flex them out completely.

"One more time," Mags told him, gently. "Then we'll do the wrists."

Tony let out a shaky breath, but complied. It took a little longer, this time. He was shaking a bit, afterward. "Can we wait...take a break? Ten minutes?" he asked.

"Five," she told him, sternly. "I'll get you a glass of water," she stood. That's when they both noticed Gibbs standing there.

As Mags left the room, Gibbs noticed the look of embarrassment in Tony's face and posture, as he looked down at the chair in front of him. He entered the room, sitting where Mags had been. "How's it going?" he asked.

Tony drew a breath in, through his nose. "Needed a break," he told him. "So, not as well as I should be, I guess."

Gibbs quirked a brow. "Doin' ten times better than you were last week," he said.

Tony looked up, through the long locks of bangs that only reminded the both of them that he needed a haircut, with a questioning glance. "How do you get that figure?"

"Far as I recall, you could move one finger, one week ago. Now you're moving all ten. That's ten times better."

Tony let out a small, breathy laugh, "And just as useless as they all were. Can't hold onto a glass, or anything."

"Yet," Gibbs reminded him. Tony's gaze fell, again. Gibbs tucked a finger under the younger man's chin, forcing him to meet his eyes once more. "It's not a race, DiNozzo. You think I'm on a schedule to replace you?"

"You've got one, already," he countered.

"A temporary fill-in," Gibbs retorted. "Johnson's team is on forced leave, for the next nine days. He wanted to help us out. That's not a replacement. It's an extra pair of eyes." He watched, with narrowed eyes, as Tony's darted around between them. "That what this is about? You think you've gotta be better before they come back?" Tony's evasive eyes told him all he needed to know. "Or you think we'll come across a fill-in that would make a good replacement, eventually." Tony's eyes closed, and he clenched his jaw. Yeah...that was it. "Look at me," Gibbs told him. Tony swallowed. "I said look at me, DiNozzo," he said, with a bit more bite.

Tony opened his eyes, praying Gibbs wouldn't notice the wetness forming in them. But he did, and it damn-near melted the older man's heart. After all this man had been through, braved through, what he really feared the most, was this.

"You listen to me," he began, softening his tone. "No one could replace you, on my team. No one will. Doesn't matter how long it takes you to get your strength back, there will always be a place open for you there. You hear me?"

"What if...what if I don't get my strength back, Boss?" he asked, almost in a whisper.

"You will."

Tony quirked a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "You and McGee seem to be so sure of that..."

"Because it's true. Eventually, you'll see that. Won't happen tomorrow, but you'll get there, Tony. Don't ever think that that's not true." His hand dropped to the agent's knee, giving it a light, reassuring squeeze. Tony looked down at it, then decidedly covered it with his own.

"Thanks, Boss..."


	33. Chapter 33

Four weeks, three days. Tony had been keeping track, since he'd gotten the cruel devices off of his arms. Four and a half really long weeks, to get to the point he could stabilize himself with a crutch; grip it just tight enough, that he didn't need anyone to guide him to the restroom anymore.

It was kind of freeing, knowing he could do that. He wouldn't have to go through that moment when the urge to use the bathroom arose, and the embarrassment of having to call out for Mags. Now, he could do it himself. In fact, Mags wasn't going to need to be there all day, every day, anymore. She'd come by to do his physical therapy, make sure all the bottles in the fridge had loosened caps, and leave, after telling him to call if he needed her back for some reason. But now that he could actually press the buttons on his phone, it'd be easier just to call one of the team. And really, if he was going to call anyone, it'd be for an emergency.

It was actually a bit unnerving, being by himself at the house for the first time in a long time. No, he didn't need anyone there. But it felt boring...lonely. Being in the bed, made him feel antsy and restless. So, he got up, sliding the crutch under his arm, and made his way out to the living room, grabbing his cell with his free hand, on the way out. Plopping onto the couch, he propped the crutch on the next cushion over, and looked down at his phone.

Scrolling through his contact list, he found McGee's name. It was best not to call, in case they were busy. So he decided to send a text.

Tony: Hey, McGoo. Team out and about?

Nearing a minute later, he received a response.

McGee: Nope. Running diagnostics on my computer.

Tony: Sounds exciting. Is it exciting?

McGee: You must be bored.

Tony: Absolutely not! Just checking in on you guys. So, no big case, huh? What's everyone else doing?

McGee: You're bored... Gibbs is out for coffee. Ziva's yelling at the new temp. We miss you.

Tony smiled at that last line.

Tony: Aww, Timmy. You're making me all warm and fuzzy inside :*).

McGee: Shut up, Tony.

Tony: You love me. Admit it. So...you all should come by, tonight. I'm gonna attempt to make dinner, and if that goes miserably, I'll just order pizza. Yano...now that I can dial a phone, and all.

He waited a good five minutes for a response, before feeling the dread of rejection. Trying not to read too much into it, he set the phone down on the coffee table, grabbed the crutch, and made his way into the kitchen for a bottle of water. All the while, he listened for his phone to go off. But he made it back to the couch and got comfortable, without a sound.

Setting the bottle on the coffee table, he gripped it, the best he could, while twisting the slightly loosened cap from the top. It wasn't too difficult. But when he went to pick it up again, it slipped, dropping to its side and then to the floor.

"Shit shit shit!" he grabbed it and set it upright, getting the top back on it, before getting up and hopping to the kitchen to grab a hand towel. On his hop back, the phone went off. He quickly dabbed the water from the floor, and then set it atop the spill on the table, before grabbing his phone.

McGee: Sorry about that. Gibbs came storming in and told us to grab our gear. Big, exciting case, after all. Gibbs driving. Need both hands to stay alive. I'll text you later.

Tony sighed, relieved at why he didn't get a quick response. But now he felt even more alone. No one would be available to help him pass the time. Hell, he was even considering calling his father. But that would be a waste of time, and probably more disappointing, than entertaining. The man hadn't bothered to return any calls made to him in the past couple of months. Why would he answer now? The very fact that he hadn't, even once, cared enough about his son to check in on him, only made him feel worthless; disappointed... Nothing new, when it came to the old man. But no less hurtful.

Of course, he was never told whether the team had tried to contact Senior. But Tony knew they had. They'd simply spared him, by not telling him. There was always this strange look of pity in one of the agents' eyes when they'd tried on any given day. But Tony always played it off, making that go away, by showing them that he was okay.

Secretly, or maybe not so much, he wished his dad was more like Gibbs' dad. Or maybe he wished Gibbs' dad was his dad. He couldn't decide. Jack was pretty cool; Tony liked him. He wasn't perfect, but he was better, by far, than DiNozzo Sr.

The thought gave Tony the idea to give old-man-Gibbs a call...

11 00 11 00 11

"Who were you messaging?" Ziva asked, from the front passenger seat.

"Just Tony," he replied, tucking his phone back into his pocket. "I think he's bored." He didn't miss the quick glance Gibbs gave him from the rear-view mirror. "I told him we've got a case, and that I'd talk to him later."

"This is his first day without Mags, yes?" she asked. "Do you think he needs help?"

"He didn't seem to. And Mags is on-call, so if he does, he knows how to reach her." He glanced out the window, in thought, then back to the rear-view, "He'll call her, right, Boss?" he asked.

"He'll call," Gibbs replied. "Hopefully," he thought.

*~.~*

"What do we got, Duck?" Gibbs asked, as the team piled in past the LEO's at the scene.

"What we have, is a massacre," the older man told him, as he moved to another body. "Eight dead. Lieutenant Guilford was the first, which makes him the initial target. I believe the rest of them were killed simply because they were here to see it."

"Machete?" Gibbs asked, looking closer at one of the bodies, taking in the long gash that ran down his torso.

"I'll have to confirm that, in my lab. But as of right now, I'd say yes. That's what it seems."

"So, this guy waltzes in here," McGee started, "Kills the Lieutenant, then seven more people, without a fight? How did no one try and tackle him?"

"That is yet to be determined, Timothy," Ducky stated. "Some of them might have. I'll be able to tell, once I've had time to look them all over, more closely."

"He could be a she," Palmer chimed in. "Whomever it was, they might be extremely skilled with their weapon of choice. They may not have had the chance to fight back."

"You mean like Kill Bill?" McGee looked at the younger man.

"Exactly like Kill Bill," Palmer smiled at him. "Once they took out their main target, all they really had to do was hit the next person closest, even if they were approaching. If you look at the pattern in which the bodies fell," he moved a bit to the center of the room, closest to the Lieutenant, "It seems like once they killed Guilford, they turned," he spun his body around, "And took out this one," he made a slashing motion, above the next victim. "Then was approached from the right," he turned to the right, "And took out victim number three," he made another slashing motion. "Then they moved toward the back door, and was approached again, from the right," he took a few steps toward the door, and made a slashing motion toward the next victim. "Once they reached the door, there was only one direction any of them could've attacked them..." he stopped, once he realized Gibbs was glaring at him. "I- I'm...sorry. I'll...I'll just um..."

"No," Gibbs told him. "That's a good catch, Palmer." Jimmy felt a bit of pride, before going back to assist Ducky. Gibbs turned to McGee and Ziva. "So, we've got a possible exit point. Ziva, start bagging and tagging. McGee, pictures. I'm gonna go talk to the witness."

*~.~*

"I...I'm not a witness, per se," the younger man told Gibbs, outside. "I h-heard the s-screaming...But I didn't see anyone."

"Where were you, when you heard the screaming, Mr. Randolph?" Gibbs asked.

"Here," he replied. "I was sitting here, on this bench, eating my lunch. I was here from about ten after noon... The screaming...maybe ten minutes into my meal. But I never saw anyone go in or out. It's an office building, ya know? Sometimes the secretary, Julia, comes out to have lunch with me. We're...we...we were friends," he looked down at his lap. "She d-didn't come out, today..."

"I'm sorry about your friend," Gibbs told him. "When you heard the screaming, did you go in?" he asked.

"No," he shook his head. "I w-went up to the door. There's a window...I looked in. I s-saw a-all the b-blood... I called the police..."

"Whoever did it, was gone?"

"I didn't see anyone in there alive," he looked up at him. He was obviously disturbed by what he'd discovered. "Who...who would do this, Agent Gibbs? Who would kill all those people? Why would they..."

"We think they were just after the Lieutenant. The others were circumstantial."

"Y-you'll f-find the guy, right?"

"We'll find whoever did this, Mr. Randolph," he told him. "If you remember anything else, anything at all you think might be helpful, you call me," he handed him a card. The man nodded, taking the card, then stood and walked away.

Gibbs watched him walk away a bit, before turning to reenter the building. To his surprise, his agents were standing with guns drawn, pointed at the back door. Palmer was being held, forcibly, with a machete to his throat, by a man the same height as him.

"Put down your weapons, or he dies..."


	34. Chapter 34

"Heya, Tony!" Jackson's voice rang out from the other line. "Been a while since I heard from ya. How are ya?"

"Doing better than I have been," he replied. "Maybe not as great as the last time we talked."

"Last time we talked, you were planning a trip to Vegas. Ya didn't go off an' get yourself hitched, now, did ya?" he laughed.

Tony chuckled, "No no. Nothing like that. Didn't actually make it out there."

"Ah... Leroy make you stay back and work?"

"Ehh...no." Tony hesitated, not really wanting to talk about what had happened.

"Something happened," Jackson concluded. "I can hear it in your voice, kid. What is it about you and my son that makes ya think ya can't talk to an old man about things, eh?"

"It's not that I don't wanna talk to you, Jack," Tony shook his head.

"Well, ya waited this long to call me..."

"Couldn't exactly use the phone, till recently."

"What?"

"I uh... There was an accident," he told him. "Well, not really an accident... But, I couldn't use my hands at all, for...well, a long time."

"What happened, Tony?" Tony could hear as Jackson lowered himself into the squeaky recliner, ready to listen.

"I was um...I was kinda taken..."

"Kinda?"

"I was taken captive," he clarified, rolling his eyes a little. "My hands were badly broken. And my leg. I've been holed up here at Jethro's house ever since. He's been taking care of me. I'm getting better..."

"But you're not back at work yet," he surmised. "Which would explain why you're callin' me at one o'clock in the afternoon on a Tuesday."

"Ya got me," Tony smirked. "Yeah, not exactly able to use a gun, just yet."

"You'll get there, kiddo. If you can tough through workin' with my Leroy all these years, you can sure as hell tough through this!"

Tony smiled, letting out a relieved laugh.

11 00 11 00 11

"There's no way out of here," Gibbs told the man that held Palmer. "Let him go. Turn yourself in, and things will be better for you."

"Better for me? I've killed eight people! What could you possibly offer me that'll be less harsh than what I've already got coming?" Palmer was sheet-white and stiff, unmoving in the man's grasp. But his face was scrunched; eyes clamped shut at the man's shouting at his ear. He was terrified.

"Why did you kill Lieutenant Guilford?" Gibbs asked, as calmly as he could.

"I didn't wanna kill anyone else," the man said. "He was the only one... The others...I couldn't..."

"We understand that," Gibbs tried to calm him. "But you need to tell us why."

"He...he...raped my daughter," his voice cracked, a tear escaping the corner of his eye. "He raped her and no one believed it. No one would believe it, and they did nothing!" he shouted. "What was I supposed to do? Tell me!"

"You got your revenge," Gibbs told him. "The others tried to stop you, didn't they?"

"They were...I didn't know what to do. I panicked," he told him. "I- I didn't...I didn't mean for this..." his eyes darted around the room, at all of the people he'd slain. "I..."

"Don't add another one to that list," Gibbs told him. "And don't make us shoot you down. That's not what your daughter would want, is it? To lose her father, too?" The man was breaking. But he wasn't lowering the machete. "What's your name?"

"What? Why?"

"Don't know what to call you."

He hesitated for a moment. "John. You can call me John."  
"John...your daughter needs you. Don't let it end like this."

"What use will I be to her, if I'm in prison?" his voice regained the strength of anger it'd previously held. "Drop you damn guns, now!" he pressed the blade into Palmer's skin, drawing blood.

"Alright!" Gibbs yelled. "Alright, just...just don't hurt him." Slowly, he lowered his gun to the floor, motioning to his team to follow suit. They all, hesitantly, followed the order.

"I'm leaving with him," John told them. "If you want him back, alive, you'll find me a way out of here." He backed himself and Palmer out through the door, closing and locking it behind them.

The team quickly went to action, grabbing their guns and turning to Gibbs for direction.

"Ziva, McGee, go see where he can get out the back way. I'll call for back up. Ducky, get the hell out of here."

"I'm not leaving here, without young Jimmy," Ducky said, firmly.

"I'm not riskin' you getting hurt, Duck," Gibbs told him.

"The man has a machete, not a gun. I'm not in harms way, and there's nothing I can do back at the office. Please, Jethro. That young man is my responsibility. I cannot, in good conscience, leave here without knowing he'll be safe."

Gibbs thought for a moment, slightly unsure about what to do. "Fine. Call the LEOs back; get some help getting these bodies out of here. Call Abby. See if she can bring up any street cams, security feed, anything. I wanna know who this guy is..."

*~.~*

Jimmy was thrown to sit against a wall in a fairly small room. John paced back and forth in front of him, nervously. They were still in the building, locked away in one of the rooms on an upper floor.

"John?" Palmer braved. "W-what is it you expect to d-do, here?"

"We're waiting," he told him. "If they want you, they'll find a way to let me out of here."

"Where will you go?" he asked.

John stopped, mid-step, and seemed to be thinking. "Somewhere...I don't know. Just...just not here..."

11 00 11 00 11

20 minutes later...

"Gibbs!" Abby shouted nervously into the phone. "I've got information on your guy. Jonathan McNamara, age forty-four. He has a private landscaping business. No priors. Widowed six months ago; his wife was killed by a drunk driver. Their daughter, Alicia, is sixteen."

"Any reports come up through the local PD on a sexual assault?" Gibbs asked, on the other line.

"There's one; against a Lieutenant Adrian Guilford. But the charges were dropped because there was no sign of rape or assault, and the Lieutenant was cleared; had an alibi."

"What about John? He have some kinda military or martial arts training?"

"Nothing that's showing up anywhere I look."

"Get a hold of the girl. I want her brought down here..."

3 hours later...

"Maybe you should call Agent Gibbs back," Palmer tried, once again, to engage John. Now that the man seemed to have calmed a bit, he felt like he might be more approachable.

John was seated, now, on the opposite wall from Jimmy. His arms were propped on his bent knees, and he seemed lost. "What's your name, kid?" he asked. It surprised Palmer; the man hadn't really spoken to him in hours. Now he wanted to chat?

"J-Jimmy," he'd really not wanted to stutter.

"Jimmy," the man repeated. "You're just a kid. What're you doing, working a crime scene? You a probie agent?"

"I'm a medical examiner...an assistant," he told him, a bit curious as to how he'd have thought otherwise, seeing as his uniform was pretty clear.

"I take it you don't have any kids," he said, looking over at him; making eye contact.

"No, Sir, I don't."

"Then it's probably hard for you to look at my reaction, and find any sense in it..."

"Actually, I might not have kids, but I think I can understand what it would feel like for no one to listen to you; when you know there's been an injustice, and no one is willing to believe you, and then won't do anything about it. I can understand taking justice into your own hands... What I don't understand, is the manner in which you decided to take justice...and how many innocent lives you took out, with it. It's almost like...almost like you hadn't initially planned on doing what you did..."

John looked at him through reddening, glossy eyes; his chin beginning to quiver. "I..." his voice cracked, "I went to talk to him. Had a recording device with me, in case he let his guard down; slipped something out, he'd done so well to hide before." John pulled a digital recorder out of his coat pocket. He held it in his hand for a moment, looking down, accusingly at it, before pressing the play button...

Earlier that day...

"John," Lieutenant Guilford sat down on the park bench, beside the man. "You keep following me, we'll be back at the station to get a restraining order."

"I wasn't following you. I saw you from across the road. You really think I'm an idiot? You think I don't know what you did?"

"I think you know exactly what happened, and you don't wanna believe it. So, you're trying to destroy me and my career by making me the bad guy."

"You are the bad guy!" John gritted through his teeth.

"Your daughter being a whore, doesn't make me a bad guy. Makes me stupid enough to have fallen for her saying how old she was-"

"Don't you fucking talk about my daughter that way, you sick fucking pedophile!" it was a growled response; angry but quiet enough that surrounding people didn't hear.

Guilford laughed, "John, John, John... I don't think you're hearing me. Alicia approached me. Not the other way around. She had a fake ID to get into the bar, in the first place. Can you honestly sit there and tell me I did anything wrong, when you're daughter was out specifically to have that sweet little ass fucked?"

"You're a godamn liar... She was a virgin! You took advantage of her. She didn't want you! You got her drunk and raped her!"

"If I raped her, they would've been able to tell," he got close to his face. "Either way, you have no way to prove what you're saying. The case was dropped. Ya know what that means? It means the police, the doctors, the judge...all think Alicia is a whore. The only person deluding themselves, here, is you..." John was visibly shaking with anger, unable to speak. "Now," Guilford stood, "I've got an appointment to keep. If I see you again, I won't be held responsible for my actions..."

Now...

John hit the stop button on the recorder. "He walked to the office building. I followed him in my truck. I...I was so...angry," his eyes darted around in front of him. "He just...walked into that building, like nothing ever happened today. I couldn't...I couldn't let him leave there.

"Before I'd met up with him, I was just leaving one of my client's homes. They've got bamboo overgrown in their backyard. I had the machete with me, in the front seat. As soon as I looked over at it, I knew what I had to do. But I didn't want him to see me coming... So I parked out back; came through the back way. I didn't...I didn't know...how many people would be there. When I walked in, it was like...now or never. It was my only chance; the only way I'd ever get to him... But with all those...people... I couldn't let them tell anyone. I couldn't...let them..." he broke down in tears, "Never see my baby girl again..."

"But you stayed," Palmer spoke up. "You didn't run away, like you could have. You could've left...but you stayed."

"I... I killed all those people," he met his eyes again.

"And you knew it was wrong. You felt guilty, because you were responsible. You wanted to be caught..."

"No!" he shouted, pushing himself up to stand. "No, that's not what I wanted! Don't try and tell me...what I wanted!" he backhanded Jimmy across the face, causing him to yell out, and fall over onto the floor...

11 00 11 00 11

Gibbs impatiently paced in front of the building, observing the half dozen cop cars surrounding the area. The bodies had all been removed, and evidence all collected. They hadn't heard from John in over an hour.

"Boss," McGee jogged up to him, "Detective Karr is about to pull up with McNamara's daughter." Alicia had been on a school field-trip a couple of hours away. They'd sent a squad car to meet them half-way. "Want me to call him?"

"I'll do it," Gibbs told him, pulling out his phone. They'd contacted him, earlier, after Abby found the number for his work cell. At the time, however, he wasn't interested in chatting; only for a way out, untouched.

He pressed the call back button and put the phone to his ear, awaiting the other line to pick up.

"Agent Gibbs, if there isn't a damn chopper on its way here, I have nothing to talk to you about," John answered.

"I've got your daughter, out here," Gibbs told him, right as Karr's vehicle pulled up. The young brunette girl was helped out of the back seat. "Thought you might like to talk to her; tell her what happened. It should come from you."

The voice on the other line was silent for several moments, which worked out alright, since it took as long for the cop to usher the girl to him. "Why would you do that? Why would you...bring her here?"

"Far as I can see it, no matter where you go when you leave here, you won't be seeing her for a while. Thought you might wanna tell her as much."

"What do you want?"

"Not really about what I want, John."

"In exchange for talking to her," he clarified. "What do you want?"

"It's be nice if you'd let me talk to the hostage; proof of life," he decided.

"Fine. Here," there was rustling on the other end, and John said something Gibbs couldn't quite decipher.

"A-Agent Gibbs?" Palmer's voice rang through the line.

"Doin' okay, Jimmy?" Gibbs asked.

"I...I'm okay..."

"We're gonna get you outta there. You just hang tight. We're doing everything we can."

"Y-yes, sir—uh...Yes, Agent G-Gibbs..."

More rustling was heard, before John's voice took over, "Let me talk to her."

"Here she is," he told him, looking to Alicia before handing the phone over to her.

"Daddy?" she clutched the phone to her ear.

"Baby girl, I'm sorry..."

"Daddy, what's going on? Why are all these cops here? Where are you? What're you doing?" she asked in a shaky voice.

"Ally, I'm sorry...I...I tried to talk some sense into Guilford..."

"What?"

"I...I killed him..."

"Dad..."

"I did it to protect you... I didn't mean for this to happen..." his voice cracked.

"Where are you?" her voice broke at the sound of her father's tears.

"I'm inside. Baby, I killed some other people...I didn't...I didn't want that to happen, but it just...it just did. And now...now, I don't know what to do, Baby. I need to get away from here..."

Alicia looked to Gibbs, who motioned for her to cover the receiver. "We need him to come out; turn himself in," he whispered. She nodded, tears making their way down her face as she turned away and removed her hand from the receiver.

"Daddy...you need to come out," she told him.

"They'll take me away... I'll never see you again," his voice was choked.

"If you try to run, you could get killed," she cried. "Please, Daddy! Please give yourself up! Please..." she broke down, unable to continue the call.

Gibbs took the phone from her, motioning for Ziva to try and console her. If she was a victim of rape, letting McGee do it, could be a mistake. "You should listen to her, John," Gibbs told him.

"Where do you get off, coercing my daughter to try and get me to give myself up?" he yelled.

"She wants you to come out," he countered.

"Get me my damn helicopter, now!"

"How do you expect to get away in a chopper, John?" Gibbs shouted. "Can you fly one? 'Cause unless ya can, we're gonna know where you land."

There was a considerable amount of silence on the other line, and then a frustrated shout, before the line went dead. Gibbs cursed, before shoving the phone back into his pocket.

"What's gonna happen to my dad?" Alicia looked up at Gibbs, with pleading eyes.

"That depends on him, Alicia," Gibbs answered, softly.

"Boss!" McGee approached, at a light run. "We think we've found his vehicle..."


	35. Chapter 35

It was nearing six o'clock, and still no word from McGee. "Must be a pretty big case," Tony thought. Not this it was unusual, or even rare, for the team to be working past six.

Tony had talked to Jackson for a couple of hours, before the older man needed to hang up. Then he'd busied himself with a movie, until his stomach started growling. Now, he was fixing himself something for dinner. He really wanted something Italian. Mags was a decent cook, but she didn't really do wonders with pasta dishes.

He really wished someone was there to eat with him. Eating alone seemed...well...lonely. Ordinarily, when he'd be at his apartment, and knew he was eating alone, he'd order out. But he really had a hankering for some marinara...

11 00 11 00 11

"I want a car," John spoke into the phone as he paced back and forth in front of Jimmy. "An older model, without those damn GPS tracking things. Full tank of gas, and a gas can full in the trunk. Bottled water in the back seat. No tricks. I'm taking your man with me."

"I can't let you do that, John," Gibbs told him on the other line.

"You will. And you won't follow me. If I see anyone following me, he dies." Jimmy swallowed, nervously, as he watched and listened. "Once I feel like I'm far enough away, and safe, I'll let him go. I'll tell you where to find him, and you can come get him. But if you try anything funny beforehand, I will kill him, and then myself. And you lose."

"You do that, John, you make Alicia an orphan. You really want that? After all you've done to protect her?"

John was silent for a long moment, before replying. "Get me the car, Agent Gibbs. You've got one hour," he shut the phone...

*~.~*

35 minutes later...

"We really gonna do this, Boss?" McGee asked, as he slid the package of water bottles into the back seat.

"We don't have much of a choice, if we want Palmer back, alive."

"How do we know he will not just kill him, once he is far enough away?" Ziva questioned.

"What happened today, was done out of fear," Gibbs told them. "John's not a killer, at heart. He just wants to get out of here."

"He's off his meds," McGee chimed in. "That bottle of antidepressants we found in his glove compartment, they were refilled last week. It's a full bottle. He's been off of them for at least that long."

"That could explain a lot of why he reacted the way he did, today," Ducky chimed in. "Withdrawal can cause a wide variety of symptoms, including anxiety, agitation, aggressiveness, depersonalization, confusion..."

"Could it cause him to kill?" Gibbs asked.

"I suppose a combination of these symptoms, depending on how severe..."

"Could mean that he's serious when he says he will kill Palmer, if we don't let him leave," Gibbs told him. "But as long as he thinks he's safe, Palmer has a better chance of survival."

Ducky took a breath, "I agree."

McGee looked apprehensive about the decision, but was ready to follow any orders, and trust in his colleagues' judgment. He watched as Gibbs pulled out his phone and dialed. A few moments passed, before the line picked up.

"It's ready," Gibbs said into the phone.

"Make the cops leave," John demanded. "If you wanna stay and make sure your man is still okay, fine. But they leave. No one follows me."

"Okay. Give me ten minutes," he replied, before ending the call.

The next five and a half, were spent convincing the head officer to clear out his men. It took almost as long for the street to be cleared of any and all police personnel. It was another three, before John decided to come out, holding Jimmy in front of him like a shield.

Gibbs made eye-contact with the youngest member of their team. He was scared, but otherwise seemed well-composed. There was a bruise forming on his left cheek, he noticed, before making eye-contact with John.

John pushed Palmer into the car, through the driver's side, then climbed in, himself, pushing Jimmy over onto the other side.

The team watched as the car sped off, out of sight. McGee looked to his boss, about to ask what they should do next, when Gibbs picked up his phone.

"Got it, Abs?" he said into his phone.

"I'm on him, Bossman," she replied.

"Keep me posted," he said, then ended the call.

"Boss?"

"He's confused, alright," Gibbs told them. "Didn't want a GPS in the car, but he forgot there's one in his phone. We'll keep a mile behind him. Abby will tell us if he stops, so we don't get much closer. Once he lets Palmer go, we get him to safety, then catch up to John."

"We've only got one car, Boss," McGee said.

"I've got the van," Ducky informed.

"You need to get back to the Yard," Gibbs looked to him.

"I'll do no such thing, Jethro," he protested. "If that man decides to have an 'episode' before dropping young Mr. Palmer off, he could need immediate medical attention. I said it before, and I'll say it once again; I'm not leaving until he's safe..." he matched Gibbs' glare. "Besides, you'll need to be able to go after him, once Jimmy's been set free. It's a logical choice."

After several long moments, Gibbs replied, "Fine. You stay back farther from us. That van is a dead giveaway. He sees it, it could blow this whole op."

"You'll be a mile behind him. I doubt he'll see me."

"The LEOs were told not to inform the media," McGee stated. "But that doesn't mean it won't get leaked."

"If it does, Palmer's dead," Gibbs said, as they piled into their vehicles...

11 00 11 00 11

"He's stopping, Gibbs," Abby's voice sounded over the speaker. "He's still a mile ahead of you, but where he's stopping is in the middle of nowhere, literally."

"Maybe he's stopping to use the gas from the trunk," McGee suggested.

"It would be most ideal if he let Palmer go, now," Ziva chimed in. "Not only for us, but for him, if he wishes to continue after dropping him." It had been three hours that they'd been following him. Not really long enough to need gas, yet.

"Getting a call in, Boss," McGee said, when he heard the beep.

"Call ya back, Abs," Gibbs told her, before switching over. "Gibbs."

"You can pick up your man, Agent Gibbs," John told him. "Just inside Reading, Pennsylvania. I'm leaving him with a few bottles of water, but there's nowhere for him to go. So you best get there."

"Where will you go?"

"It's not really your problem anymore, is it?" the line cut off.

"McGee, call Abby. I wanna know where he's heading. Ziva, call Duck. Let him know where Palmer is..."

11 00 11 00 11

Jimmy sat, cross-legged, in the rocky dirt off the side of the road. He bit down on his lower lip as he stared somewhere across the road. Three bottles of water sat in his lap, unnoticed. John had driven them approximately three hours, North. It should be that long for the team to find him, he assumed. He had this lingering, unnerving feeling that John might backtrack and decide to come pick him up again, and this time, kill him off.

Suddenly very nervous, Jimmy pushed himself up onto his feet and looked around. There was nothing; nowhere to run to. Just a bunch of trees and road. Trees were better than nothing, though. The way John had been acting on their car ride, made it clear that the man was at his wit's end. He had no direction; no idea what he was going to do from that point on. And being killed by machete, wasn't on Jimmy's top favorite ways to die...

*~.~*

"He's headed West, Gibbs," Abby told them, over speaker. "He's stuck in traffic, so it seems. He's moving really slow."

"Let the local PD in the area know he's there. Put an APB out on the car. Ducky should get to Palmer in a couple of minutes," Gibbs relayed.

"On it," she said, ending the call. Gibbs pulled the car into a hard left, to get onto the interstate to take them West...


	36. Chapter 36

"Step out of the car! Out of the car!" one of the officers yelled out to John, who was now surrounded by several local PD vehicles, as Gibbs' car pulled up. The team quickly exited the car, approaching the officers, who all had their weapons out and aimed at John's car.

"Hold your fire!" Gibbs called out, holding up his badge as they neared.

"Agent Gibbs?" the officer asked.

"Yeah. He doesn't have a gun. Let me talk to him."

"Your call, Sir," the officer told him.

Gibbs looked to his team, then headed toward John.

"You followed me!" John yelled. "How could you do this?"

"I wanna help you, John. But I can't do that until you come out of the car and turn yourself over peacefully."

"No!" he held the machete up to his own throat.

"John! Don't do this!" Gibbs yelled out.

"I won't let you take me to prison! I can't...can't do this!"

"This isn't gonna solve anything, John," Gibbs got closer to the car. "Put it down, and let's talk."

"There's nothing to talk about! My life is over! I did what I could to protect Ally..."

"And that's the same reason you need to put down the blade, and come out here."

"No..."

"She's already lost her mother, John..."

"It isn't fair..."

"Don't make her lose her father, too."

John's face morphed, tear spilling over his lashes and trailing down his face.

"It doesn't have to end this way," Gibbs said, more calmly. "You did what you could to protect her. You can do this, now, too. Do it for Ally, John. Put down the blade, and come out of the car."

Several moments went by, with John simply contemplating his options. Eventually, his eyes closed in defeat, and he lowered the machete, throwing it out the window. Gibbs moved to kick it away, then opened the door, hoisting the man out...

11 00 11 00 11

Ducky turned the van around, after driving a considerable way farther than where he'd been told. A half mile journey back, he spotted something on the side of the road, and pulled over. He recognized the bottles of water, from the package they'd put in the back of John's car. But the young man was no where to be seen.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Gibbs. It was four rings before the agent picked up.

"You got him, Duck?"

"Quite the contrary, Jethro. I believe I've found the spot where he'd been dropped off. However, young Mr. Palmer is no longer here."

"I've got McNamara with me. We'll head your way."

*~.~*

It only took them five minutes, with Gibbs driving, to get back to Ducky. John confirmed the drop-off point, and Ziva stayed behind with him, while the others went into the wooded area.

"Jimmy!" they took turns calling out, as they walked. It had gotten dark a while ago, and it was starting to get cold.

"He couldn't have gotten too far, could he, Jethro?" Ducky asked. "Why would he leave the road, if he knew we were coming for him?"

"Chances are, he thought it'd take us a while to get here. He didn't know what we were doing. Might've thought John would change his mind; come back for him."

"Boss!" McGee's voice sounded from a bit of a distance away. "Boss, I've got him!"

The two older men took off in the direction of his voice, spotting the two near a large tree base. McGee was crouched in front of Palmer, who was sitting with his back against the trunk, and his knees pulled up to his chest.

"A-agent M-McGee?" the younger man asked, looking up to meet his eyes.

"Yeah, Jimmy," he replied. "We thought we'd lost you, back there. Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"N-no... Just c-cold," he told him.

"Well, come on, then, Mr. Palmer," Ducky reached down to help him up, with McGee's help.

"D-Doctor Mallard?" Jimmy met his mentor's eyes.

"Yes, dear boy. Whoever did you think I'd be? You should've stayed put, young man. You gave us quite a scare."

"I'm s-sorry... I though m-maybe...h-he might..."

"It's quite alright, Jimmy. What matters is that you're safe and sound.. Now, let's get you home. I take a look at you, and make sure you're alright."

Palmer swallowed, then nodded, and allowed himself to be led out of the dark woods...

11 00 11 00 11

It was nearing midnight, before Gibbs got back to the house. By the time they'd gotten back to the Yard, it was fairly late. Late enough, that Tony would likely already be asleep, with the new meds the doctor had him on. So he'd opted against calling, in case he'd wake him in the process.

It was dark in the house, indicating that Gibbs was probably right to assume the younger agent had fallen asleep a while ago. He switched on the lamp in the living room, after hanging his coat and setting his keys quietly on the table by the door. Tony's phone sat on the coffee table, beside a near-empty bottle of water, and a hand towel. Gibbs was glad Tony had come out of the bedroom for part of the day, at least. A trip to the kitchen showed him that he'd eaten, washed his plate and cup, and set them off to the side of the sink to dry.

Gibbs made his way toward Tony's room; the light from the hall, casting a bit of a glow into the bedroom. At first, Tony seemed to be peacefully sleeping. But then Gibbs noticed the blanket at the foot of the bed; Tony's legs twisted up in it. And he saw the agent's shoulders twitching. His back was facing the door, but Gibbs could sense the tension in Tony's body...

Dreaming...

"You...your job, everything about you, Tony...I hate it. What you did? To me? That makes you a monster. You're a monster, Tony. And if you don't already know that, you will..."

"I didn't wanna hurt you-"

"I didn't wanna have to hurt you, either. But I can't let you hurt anyone else, the way you hurt me."

"Please, Jeanne..."

"You deserve this. Maybe it'd be a bit easier if you could admit that to yourself and take what I give you."

"Agghhhh!" he screamed as he felt the bones in his hand crack. "S-stop! Stop! PleaseJeannestopstop!" Jeanne didn't even flinch...

"Tony! Tony, wake up!" Gibbs' voice broke through into Tony's nightmare, forcing him to wake. But the pain in his hands remained, and he clutched them to his chest. "Tony?"

"H'rts..." he choked out.

"Lemme see," Gibbs reached out, from where he was crouched beside the bed in front of him, and took Tony's arms by the wrists. The younger agent's fingers were curled in, straining into partial fists. But there was no sign of injury. "When's the last you took your meds?"

"On time," he answered. "After dinner... maybe seven?"

"Shouldn't hurt like this, anyway," Gibbs said, perhaps to himself. "Tony, open your eyes. Look at me," he told him, reaching over to turn on the bedside lamp. In this light, he saw Tony's tear-stained face, and noticed how he was shaking. "Open your eyes, Tony," he repeated, swiping some of the wetness from his cheeks.

Slowly, Tony cracked open his eyes, focusing on Gibbs. "Boss..."

"Hey," Gibbs gave a comforting smile. Tony immediately moved to sit up, backing up against the headboard; embarrassment clear in his stature. "Hey, just calm down, Tony. It's alright," he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, beside him.

"I'm sorry," Tony said, still cradling his hands in front of him.

"Nothin' to be sorry for."

"I was having a nightmare."

"I could see that."

"She was breaking my hands," he confessed. "Why do they hurt, still?"

"Was just a dream. Give it a minute, Tony. Your brain remembers that pain, even if it's not there anymore. It'll pass. Try and do some of those exercises you do with Mags."

Tony nodded, flexing open his hands, then closing them into fists, as he tried to get his breathing back under control and his heart rate back to normal.

"Other than that dream, how'd your day go?" Gibbs asked, trying to get his mind off of it.

"I uh...didn't do too much," he started. "Was hoping to get everyone over for dinner. But you got a big case, McGee told me." Gibbs nodded. "How'd that go?"

"Long story. Maybe I'll tell you about it tomorrow. It's finished, though. Sorry you had to do dinner alone."

"Haven't been alone in a long time," Tony told him, with a small chuckle to try and hide the sadness it was laced in. "Called Jack. Talked to him for a while. He says hi, by the way."

Gibbs raised a brow. "Didn't ask Mags over at all?"

"Didn't have to," he replied, without hesitation. "I didn't have any problems."

"But you were alone," he retorted, not for a moment forgetting what Tony had told him in the hospital; how Jeanne would leave him alone for hours on end.

"I was okay..." he replied, almost in a whisper.

Gibbs moved so that he was sitting beside Tony, against the headboard. "No shame in wanting someone around, DiNozzo," he assured him. "Especially not after what you went through."

"It's been months," Tony countered. "I haven't had a nightmare in a long time. Not like this one."

"You haven't been alone, either," he reminded him. "It's probably what triggered it. We all know that the team can't always be here. But Mags would've been more than happy to come sit with you. She cares about you. You know that, right? It's not just about being your nurse."

Tony swallowed, "I thought I'd be okay." A shiver made its way through his body at the recollection of the dream, and his eyes closed.

"You are okay. You did good, Tony. You can't help what your subconscious throws at you, when you fall asleep."

There were several long moments of silence, and Gibbs took note of the fact that Tony still hadn't stopped shaking; still hadn't stopped the exercises with his hands. "Ya know," he started, in a soft voice, "Eventually, I'm gonna have to go back to my place. I'm gonna be alone every night... How long is it gonna be, before I can sleep through a night, alone, without these nightmares?"

"I don't have an answer for that," Gibbs admitted.

"After Jenny died," he began, bringing up a subject Gibbs hadn't been prepared for, "It took me...a really long time, to even just sleep...without drinking myself into slumber, let alone without the nightmares." His eyes darted around somewhere in front of him, and Gibbs' head turned to watch his face as he spoke. "I think a huge part of that was because I was so far away from all of you." He paused, to swallow a lump in his throat. "Sometimes I just...I don't know. I don't think I can get through things, on my own, sometimes. I...I need...I just..." he shook his head, in frustration. "I shouldn't need you...but I do, Gibbs," he turned to meet Gibbs' eyes, his own reddened and wet. "I'm sorry..."

Gibbs lifted his arm, draping it around Tony's shoulders and pulling him closer, wrapping his other arm around the front of him, and laying Tony's head against the front of his shoulder. "Don't be sorry for that," he told him, in barely a whisper. "I'm honored to be some kinda help for you, Tony...and I'll be here for you, for as long as you need me. And even after that."

He felt Tony let out a shaky breath, and after a few moment, felt the younger man's arms settle around Gibbs' torso; hands clinging to the material of his shirt.

For Tony, he remembered back when Gibbs had come to comfort him almost two months before, and all he wanted to do, was this; hold him back just as tightly. But he couldn't. Those devices had held him back from doing so. But now...now he held on for dear life, and the relief flowed through him so violently, that no structure could've held back the sob that forced it's way out of his exhausted body. And before he could even feel ashamed or embarrassed by his own reaction, he felt Gibbs' arms tighten around him.

And suddenly, he was home...


	37. Chapter 37

5 weeks later...

McGee looked up from his desk, when he heard the familiar ding of the elevator. Tony was a little late, and he had to admit to himself that he was worried. But as the older agent came out of the shaft and walked casually, with the help of a cane (which he graduated to a couple of weeks ago), toward the bullpen, giving brief nods hello to the agents he passed by, Tim sighed with relief.

Tony had been cleared for desk duty two weeks ago, and was itching to get back on the field, but needed to pass his firearms evaluation in order to do that. So, for now, he was stuck.

"You're late," McGee said anyway.

"I'm enslaved to the schedule of public transportation, Probie," he quipped. "The bus was a little late, this morning. Wasn't entirely my fault."

"I could always swing by and pick you up, ya know," Tim offered.

"You don't live anywhere near me, McQueen. It'd be going out of your way."

"Really, it's not a problem."

"I'd rather save up my options for taking advantage of you," he said, then immediately cringed. "That...did not come out the way I'd intended..."

"How did you intend it, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked as he rounded the corner into the bullpen.

"Oh, hi, Boss!" Tony grinned, hanging his cane on the handle of the filing cabinet beside his desk, before taking a seat. "I was just telling McGee that I'm perfectly capable of getting myself to and from work."

"Probably so," Gibbs said, taking a seat at his own desk. "But how capable are you of getting here on time?"

"Well, it's not my fault the bus was late," Tony defended. "And it's not like it happens all that often. I've been on time the last two weeks..."

"In his defense," Ziva chimed in, "That is still a record, for Tony."

"Hey!" Tony shot her an incredulous look.

"She's right," McGee backed.

"I'm not late very often..." Tony argued. "And I'll be able to get myself to work and back, by next Wednesday," he said, proudly. "Doc says I'm good to drive. My car's at the garage getting some repairs. Should be done by Tuesday afternoon."

"Good," Gibbs interjected, "Then McGee will only have to drive you around for a week." McGee grinned, and Gibbs continued before Tony could object, "Since we don't have a case right now, I think it's time for some training. McGee, Ziva, down to the gym. Tony, you're with me," he said, grabbing something from his desk drawer and sticking it in his pocket, before he headed toward the elevator.

Tony grabbed his cane and followed behind him, without question. Once the elevator doors were closed, Tony turned to his boss, "Where we going?"

"Shooting range," Gibbs replied.

"Uh..." Tony swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat.

"There a problem with that?" Gibbs looked over at him, with raised brows.

"I uh... Well, it's just that...um..."

"Hey," Gibbs turned to face him, placing his hands on the younger man's shoulders, "You're never gonna know, if you don't try."

And of course, Gibbs was right. Tony knew that. But it also meant the possibility of knowing something he might not like...

*~.~*

"There's no rush," Gibbs told his SFA, as he watched him fidget in his booth. "Take your time, and shoot when you're ready."

He hadn't really been aware of his own stalling. But now that it was brought to his attention, Tony decided to square his shoulders and take aim at the target. Having his SIG in his hands felt nice; familiar. Nostalgic, even. But at the same time, it felt out of place. Part of him had wanted to believe that this would be like riding a bike; something you never really forget how to do. But his hands were...well, different. Sure, they were still his hands. But this just felt different, somehow. That fact made him doubt his ability.

"You're never gonna know, if you don't try," Gibbs' words played back in his head.

Tony eyed the target, and steadied his aim. His stomach nervously churned, right before he pulled the trigger. The bullet struck the paper, but no where on the painted part of the target.

"Try it again, without doubting yourself, this time," Gibbs said, beside him.

Tony almost looked over at him, wondering how it was that Gibbs always knew what he was thinking. But he kept his gaze on the target, confident now, at least that the reverb from the gun wasn't going to break his hands. He took aim, trying not to think about the fact that this was a test; but more like nothing had ever happened, and that this was just like six months ago, training, or rather showing up, McGee.

He fired, hitting the shoulder of the target. He fired three more times, each hitting close to the heart. Feeling more confident, he raised his aim and hit the head, square on in the middle of the forehead.

He wanted to smile. But he was too shocked. It felt like a dream; too good to be true. But the smell of gun smoke, and the slight soreness in his hands, was way too real.

"Like ridin' a bike," he heard the smirk in Gibbs' voice, before he felt his hand on his shoulder. "I'd call that a pass."

"Wait...that was an eval?" Tony turned to him with an incredulous look on his face.

"Now you've just gotta get that leg back in shape, and you should be good to go," Gibbs replied, grabbing his jacket, and turned to head toward the door.

"My leg doesn't even hurt, Boss!" he told him, holstering his gun and grabbing his cane as he followed to catch up. "The cane is just a precaution; not supposed to put my full weight on it yet." Gibbs glanced over at him as he caught up, tilting his head. "I know what you're thinkin'. But I can get McGoo to carry my stuff for me. I'd still be useful at a crime scene."

"Not if you've gotta chase down a suspect."

"You, McGee and Ziva are capable of chasing, Boss. How often do we need to chase someone, when processing a scene, though?"

"It happens."

"Fine. Give me a week, and take me to the store to get some new tube socks, and I'll be good to go," he plastered on a big grin, and Gibbs couldn't help but to let out a laugh.

11 00 11 00 11

2 weeks later...

As Tony raced up the alley way after a suspect that suddenly fled the scene, he wondered if it was such a great idea to be so impatient to get let back out on the field. He'd been training for weeks, running the treadmill and the track with Gibbs. He'd thought he was ready.

But the terrain he'd been running this past half of a mile, was, at first, through a field, and then a rock-filled parking lot. There was a sickly twinge in his leg, which worried him more than probably necessary. He had a lingering fear that the bone would simply split and send him crashing to the earth beneath him.

But he kept on, without slowing down. The suspect was only a few yards ahead of him, now. Ziva had cut around the building a while back, to try and cut the man off, if he should decide to go that way and lose Tony. Gibbs and McGee hadn't seen him take off, but Ziva had called them as they ran, and they were, surely, in the car by now, trying to find them.

Tony's heart pounded in his chest. He was just a few feet behind him, now. He jumped, tackling him to the ground with a grunt. And just as quickly as he steadied himself, he had his gun pointed to the back of his neck. "Don't move!"

"I didn't do anything!" he yelled.

"Then why'd you run, huh?" Tony reached back with one hand, to grab his cuffs. The suspect said nothing. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

"Are you alright, Tony?" Ziva quickly rushed up to them, gun pointed at the suspect.

"I'm fine," Tony said, holstering his gun, now that Ziva was there, and he pulled the man's hands behind his back and slapped the cuffs on. They heard Gibbs' car pull up through the alley way, and come to a screeching halt.

Gibbs and McGee got out of the car as Tony stood and pulled the suspect up with him, wincing slightly as he did so.

"You okay, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, as he approached.

"Yeah, I'm good, Boss," he replied, handing the guy over to him. "Not enough room in the car for all of us, with Flash Gordon, here. I'll stay behind and wait for Ducky."

Gibbs nodded, "McGee, you stay with him. I'll let Duck know where you are. We'll see you both back at the Yard." Ducky wasn't but a minute away, still bagging the body with Palmer. Otherwise, Gibbs would've probably protested and waited on someone else to come transport the suspect.

Tony stood with his hands on his hips, catching his breath as the two agents watched the car pull out of the alley.

"Why'd you volunteer to stay back?" McGee asked, knowingly.

"Horrific leg cramp," Tony grimaced, forcing himself to resist grabbing onto it, until the car was out of sight. Then he sunk down to the pavement so quickly, McGee thought he was collapsing, and caught him in order to help lower him safely. Tony grabbed onto his calf and started squeezing the offending muscle. "Good god..." he squeaked.

"That's you good leg, though," McGee said, crouched in front of him, with a look of concern on his face.

"Yeah. Think I might've been subconsciously overcompensating," he replied.

"Here," Tim reached out and took Tony's calf in his hands, "Lemme help." He pulled Tony's leg straight, and allowed himself to kneel on his knees to the pavement, so he could brace his elbows on his thighs. He took off Tony's shoe and grabbed his foot, which was grossly pointing outward and to the side from the spasm. He slowly started pressing the ball of his foot up to flex it.

"Gaaaah!" Tony yelled out, his face contorting in pain.

"Okay okay, calm down," McGee retorted.

"You're killing me! How can I calm down, when you're killing me?"

"I'm not killing you, Tony. This is what you're supposed to do..."

"Oh dear sweet Jesus..." Tony choked out, as Tim continued to press.

McGee shook his head, releasing his hand, and moving up to Tony's calf to massage the muscle in spasm. "You'll be fine," he told him, feeling the muscle slowly start to relax.

"Don't tell Gibbs," Tony almost whispered. Tim looked at his face, then, noting the seriousness, laced with a hint of fear.

"I won't. But it's not a big deal, anyway. So you got a cramp. You're just getting used to running terrain, again. It's normal. And honestly, you should probably start eating bananas or something, for breakfast, instead of donuts."

"What're you, my physician, now?"

McGee rolled his eyes, but smirked, despite himself. He heard a vehicle turn up the alley, and looked to see the van pulling in. "There's Ducky," he told his partner. Then he stood, and gave Tony a hand up.

"Thanks, McMedicineWoman," he replied, grateful that his leg wasn't in so much pain anymore.

"You're welcome," McGee said, partly sarcastic in his tone.

"Really though," Tony told him, as they made their way toward the van. "Thanks. For everything. I mean that."

McGee turned to face him, his hand on the door handle, and searched his eyes for any sign of trickery. When he found none, he allowed himself to accept the sincerity. "You're welcome, Tony. Any time..."

~Fin~


End file.
